Carpe Demon
by The-Queen-of-Fantasy
Summary: (Sequel to Rhythm and Rous) Winchesters, witches, demons, oh my! Having given up civilian life, Heather and Erica come face to face with some of the biggest obstacles that life as hunters can throw them. They encounter more daddy issues, drunken mistakes, and black-eyed bastards than they ever cared for, but it's what they care too much about that proves to be the real dilemma.
1. Prologue

**Hello some of my favorite darlings!**

 **After much thinking and planning and pre-writing, here is the beginning of the sequel installment to your favorite SPN story!**

 **Again, thanks so much to everyone who loved and gave feedback to Rhythm and Rous - it was much appreciated and served as inspiration as getting started with the sequel.**

 **Y'all are in for a treat with this story, I can promise that much. Stay tuned to see where Heather and Erica's adventures take them this time!**

 **IMPORTANT TO NOTE:**

 **This sequel is set in season 8, in a surprisingly convenient niche of time after the boys are established in the bunker and before Sam starts the trials :)**

 **So this prologue is at the end of season 5 – gotta do something with those 6 years in between the original and the sequel, right?**

 **Rated M so we can be realistically liberal with language (you think real hunters don't have sailors' mouths?) and for…y'know, better descriptions of some of the more fun stuff ;)**

 _Two years later_ (A\N end of season five)

The floorboard creaked. Erica shot out of her fitful sleep with the gun that remained under her pillow cocked at the unseen intruder. For the span of a breath, she waited with her muscles locked so tightly they ached.

Slowly her mind registered where the sound had come from. Not a floorboard, but her radio. Some new-fangled version of music came through the quiet speakers. Usually she was woken by the perky voices of morning talk shows, but with a swift glance at the time, Erica realized she must have slept through that. She was nearly an hour late for her shift at the station.

Raking a hand through her thick brown hair, Erica swung her bare feet to the floor. It wasn't like her to sleep in. A glance at the missed calls from Sheriff Mills and Nadia confirmed that they felt the same way.

With a tightly wound knot in her stomach, Erica made her way over to her daily planner. A hasty glance at the pages told her that she could afford to call in sick today. Erica rubbed at her eyes as she meandered over to shower away her unease. She could not place what caused her to be so out of whack today, but she'd learned long ago to trust her gut. With the rest of her hunter skills growing rusty, however, Erica briefly wondered if her instincts were also growing useless.

After a much-needed scalding shower, Erica twisted her wet hair into a bun and pulled on running pants and a thin jacket. She sent a brief text to Heather inquiring if she wanted anything from the store for when she got home from work.

 _Are you ditching again?_ Heather typed back.

 _Need a me-day._ Erica replied.

She leaned over toward her radio so she could find a better station to set as her alarm. Instead of the appalling music from earlier, the droning voice of a news announcer met her ears.

"With natural disasters around every fork in the road, some folks are calling this the beginning of the apocalypse. If that's the case, break out your Bible and get right with the Lord. My colleague just pulled one out of her purse. Oh, those Gideons." A forced laugh followed.

Erica lurched for her laptop, clicking on the most recent news report. Earthquakes in places nowhere near fault lines. Disease spreading in some of the most sanitary cities Erica knew of. Still more allowed Erica to understand why she was so on edge today. Something just felt wrong in the air. If the apocalypse was upon them she knew of two people she wanted at her side.

 _Bobby, where are S and D right now?_ Erica sent out the text and stepped into her sneakers. She began throwing clothes into a duffle. Old fake ID's, phony credit cards, and weapons she had not touched in months were placed in the bag as well.

With a buzz from her phone, Erica zipped up her bag and crossed the room to read Bobby's response.

 _Come see me._ it read.

Erica dropped the phone, staggering back into the wall. Bobby knew she would never ask for their location unless it was dire. And Bobby wouldn't respond like that unless he wanted to talk to her in person. To tell her something was wrong. To tell her that the boys weren't around anymore.

Sam and Dean were dead.

Somehow, this assumption only served to fuel her desire to leave. She had no right to stay here in comfort when something capable of killing the Winchester roamed freely. Shouldering her bag, Erica kicked her phone under the bed and went to Heather's room. She packed with a clarity that frightened her. She should be a mess right now. She should be tearing at the seams.

Sam's face flashed in her mind as she'd last seen him. Nearly a year had passed since their last encounter but the emotion he brought up was the same. The unsheathed knife Erica clutched cut into her palm she gripped it so tightly. Erica watched blankly as the blood dripped onto the floor. She didn't feel any pain. Not from the wound. Not from Sam's death.

A silver Chevy corvette waited for her in the back of apartment garage, tarp and dust and all. It was impractical, really, keeping a third car around, but it had belonged to Heather's father. Erica was still unsure exactly how she and Heather had ended up with it, but it had proved useful once or twice for a high-profile covert hunt.

Erica carefully arranged the bags around the various guns and assorted hunting tools in the spacious trunk. She cranked the engine and gunned the car to Wayne and Beaumont, Attorneys at Law.

The receptionist scurried after her with protests as Erica strode right into the employee elevator. Alone, joyful violins floated down through the speakers. She curled her hands tightly into the hem of her jacket, resisting the urge to break the music that tried to calm her.

When the doors open, she was greeted with baffled men and women in professional suits. Erica's pants swished together as she wove through the onlookers to Heather's office. The blonde was reclined in her plush chair with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her phone was cradled against her ear so she didn't hear Erica enter.

"You're not hearing me. I need you to make the transfer to the manger under me. No ma'am, I don't deal with these problems." Heather sounded like she'd said this many times.

Erica tapped her desk, making Heather spin around with annoyance in her gaze. "Alright? Ok, I'm transferring you now. No, don't call this number back." Heather hung up and held the phone out to Erica. "Did you forget how to use one of these? I don't need you bringing your bad mood in here. I'm having a bad enough day on my own."

"Something in the air? You woke up feeling like shit?" Erica guessed. She knew Heather was no trained hunter, but she would make a damn good one. That's why her own makeshift hunting bag sat in the car as well. There'd been a few occasions where the girls thought Heather would go on a hunt, but it had yet to actually happen.

Until today, Erica was willing to bet.

Heather's lips parted and she pushed out of the navy chair to brace her arms against her desk. "E, I love you, truly. But I am up to my nose in cases. Apparently everyone thinks the world is ending." she deadpanned.

Her nude heels clicked as she walked over to retrieve her water bottle from on top of her filing cabinets. Erica allowed her roommate to take a long sip before going on.

"As far as I can tell, it is. The apocalypse is well under way and Sam and Dean are no longer around to stop it."

Setting down the water bottle so hard some splashed out, Heather marched to come face to face with Erica. Erica thought she saw tears welling up as understanding swept in, but the hazel eyes quickly blinked them away.

"They're dead, as far as I can tell." Erica confirmed. She only had enough energy to be totally blunt. "I don't want to go out there without backup, Heat, but I will. Someone has to fight back."

"You're leaving? Just like that? On a _whim_ that they're –"

"You know good and damn well something's wrong." Erica knew it was the nerves that had both of them on edge. She took a deep breath and continued in a softer voice. "Sam and Dean haven't been back in a year. No word from them or Bobby, and talk from other hunters says that the apocalypse is nigh and the Winchesters have been caught in the middle since day one. From what I can tell, call it intuition or knowledge of how reality works or whatever you want, but I think they're gone. And they're not coming back."

Slowly it dawned on Heather that, not only could she not let Erica go off on her own, but she wanted to go hunt down whatever monster or catastrophe took Dean away from her. Whether it was for revenge, to feel close to Dean, or to finally face all the things in the dark herself, she couldn't really tell. She shouldered her purse and set her phone on her desk.

"Don't leave that just yet. We can toss it after we call Bobby. I need to get their last location from him. But we can do that on the road. I've got your stuff packed. Let's go." Erica spoke curtly.

Together they raised more eyebrows as they left the firm without explanation.

"You knew I'd say yes." Heather stated.

"I know what believe in. You believed in those boys as much as you do your job. With them gone, I knew you wouldn't back down."

Erica waited for Heather to climb into the passenger seat. She leaned her steady hands against the door handle. She felt too calm. In theory, she knew that would eventually be just as damaging as breaking down, but right now it served her well. She slid behind the wheel and let the feel of pavement beneath her wheels further numb her.

..

The evening sun was glaring at them from the left when a melody came from the purse sitting on the dashboard. The phone hadn't finished its first ring before Heather had it on speaker and Bobby's gruff voice was demanding, "Where are you girls?"

"Look outside."

The corvette rolled to a stop next to a rusted black van just under the _Singer Auto_ sign. Heather stepped out of the car, willing herself to not visibly cringe. But the muscles in her chest and legs and hands were coiling at the sight of a place that would now only hold memories of a green-eyed hunter, not the man himself.

Her gaze was refocused to Bobby as he came out of the house to meet them, a solemnness dragging at his features. He waved them over and the three filed into the old wooden house. Erica scavenged some pizza from the fridge before perching next to Heather on the couch.

Silence still gripped them and the older hunter merely stared out the window. Heather's heart was pounding in her ears as uncertainty whirled around her. They hadn't even exchanged words yet and she was falling deeper into despair as the minutes ticked by. What was supposed to be said first? Demanding explanations? Crying over loss? How the hell to proceed?

"First of all," the gravel in Bobby's voice shook the quiet, "I'd like to know what took y'all so long to get here."

Erica was quick with an answer. "Heather needed to pick up a few things from the apartment before we headed over."

The blonde's face contorted in disagreement. _No._ she thought. _No lies today. We need truth all the way around._ And so she spoke up. "So E, you're just gonna not mention the fact that you didn't even want to drop by here? That you just wanted to run along to the last place Sam and Dean were seen?"

"Really, you're bringing this up again?" the other woman fired back. She hated arguing with Heather, but impending doom has a tendency to make tempers flare. "We're here now, losing time and a jump start on fighting whatever it is that they lost their lives to."

A sharp rapping against the table jolted the women out of their bickering. "Ladies, that's enough." Bobby seemed more disappointed than mad, but his tone remained stern. "I wanted you here so we could talk things out and get facts straight before you did something rash. And I understand that y'all are strung out at this point, but the last thing you need is to start pushing each other away. Take a deep breath, and let's talk."

The couch was scratchy. The breathing air felt stale. The ceiling fan had a skin-crawling creak every time it made a rotation. Nothing felt right.

"Are they really dead, Bobby?" The dam in Heather's mind burst. "Just gone? Evil got the best of them? What are we supposed to do? They never told us anything!"

Bobby tugged a hand across his beard and downed the remains of the nearest bottle of whiskey. "I'm honestly sorry that you were able to gather that news from my text. But yeah, they're gone. Been through a hell of a lot and it finally caught up to them."

"What was even going on? What were they doing? What's up with the end of the world stuff?"

"All the mess you read about in Revelation." He tapped the Bible sitting on the desk. "Horsemen, Lucifer, all of it. But I haven't even seen the boys since all this apocalypse business began and –"

"That's a lie." Erica challenged. Her jaw was set, eyes practically blazing.

Bobby scoffed, not missing a beat. "And? One of their priorities, the one that I'm preserving in their stead, was to keep the both of you safe and out of the big problems. So no, I'm not filling you in. They averted the goddamn _biblical apocalypse_ for you and me and the rest of the world and are both dead because of it. End of story."

It was then that the girls noticed the older hunter's eyes pricked with tears. Heather could only imagine what that meant for what he'd gone through with the Winchesters. And how inescapable the truth was that they were gone.

The image that flashed in her head – Dean's smiling face the last time she waved at him from her office window – was painful enough for her to fetch migraine pills from Bobby's medicine cabinet.

When she re-entered the living room, Bobby whirled around from his current conversation with Erica and bellowed, "And now you spring _this_ on me? What am I supposed to do with y'all gallivanting across the country?"

Heather felt small, having to explain their plan to such a mentor bent on keeping them safe. Her hand moved to his shoulder comfortingly as she said, "Bobby, we can't just sit around. I want to do this, I want to go hunting and be in this life. It's the least I can do. Not to mention poor E is miserable at the police station."

"And as for what you're supposed to do with us," Erica chimed in, "we're just another set of hunters you can manage. Give us cases, we call when we're stumped, you're the FBI director."

"I can't tell if you girls are asking for my permission or simply informing me that you'll be hunting." The streetlights outside buzzed to life as he heaved a sigh. "God, Heather, what happened to being a lawyer? You're head partner at the biggest firm in town!"

Heather looked down at her wrinkled blazer and the heels discarded to her left, then let her gaze travel to the holy water on the window sill and musty spell books stacked on the table and finally to Bobby's shotgun where it rested on the wall behind him. She knew where her comfort zone ended and that the most thrilling parts of her life so far had come from far beyond it.

"Apocalypse or not, the world still has monsters to deal with. Erica can and will fight them, and if the Winchesters can't be there to save her ass then I intend to."

Bobby nodded slowly, then held up one incriminating finger. "I get it. But you girls have got to swear to me you'll leave this apocalypse business alone. It's done, it took Sam and Dean, and I don't want it taking y'all too. Leave them be. I'll get you your own hunts, let's leave the moping over them to me."

There were crickets singing from the darkness outside the window. Crickets that Heather had heard many a night before when she would come to sit and decompress and feel safe at Bobby's. It would've been dangerous to visualize how things used to be, when Dean would come sit quietly by her and scratch at the same frayed pillow or Sam would drop a new book recommendation on that same table that sat beside her now. Instead, she resolved to do her best to look to the future – the one where she and Erica and that corvette and those monsters in the night were the only reality she worked with.

..

Bobby's incredulous laugh at Heather's makeshift hunting bag was a blow to the girls' confidence, to say the least. He proceeded to fill the trunk of the corvette with more hunting paraphernalia than they thought was possible, along with the threat, "Don't _ever_ be any less prepared than that. I won't see you dead on my watch."

So when Erica pulled into a pawn shop bright and early the following morning, Heather's eyebrows shot up. "We're either buying stuff or selling it and neither of those options seem logical right now."

"Relax, Heat." The brunette tossed an encouraging smile to the passenger seat, and Heather noted that it was refreshing to see her back in her hunting mode. "If we're gonna teach you to be a real hunter you should have some of your very own gear. Can't always practice with my favorite forty-five."

The wiry man at the counter was at least in his sixties, and had half that many cigarette packs within an arm's reach. "What can I help you ladies with today?" A wedding ring sat loosely on his finger; so loosely, in fact, that his eyes travelled appreciatively over the women's frames.

Which made it all the more comforting when Erica piped up with, "Looking for a shotgun. I've got a Remington pump-action in my trunk and she's wanting something just as reliable."

"You ready to pay for something like that?"

Heather had been wondering the same thing. Their saved income would only take them so far, why start off in the hole? But a nudge and wink from Erica alerted her to something more at play.

Erica lowered her voice, head tilted lazily to the side. "Bobby Singer's calling in a favor for this one."

The man's dominant stance collapsed, and he huffed out a reply. "Still kind of an abnormal request for the looks of you."

Heather shrugged, silently thanking Bobby for coming through for them once again. Erica's next phrase, though, would still ring in her ears for months to come.

"Well, Heat, welcome to abnormal for the rest of your life."

* * *

"This is Dean's other, other cell, so you must know what to do."

Bobby cursed to as the third time was definitely not a charm and the elder Winchester had yet to answer his calls. As soon as the girls had been nothing but a silver dot on the horizon, he had ambled inside to connect the other piece of the puzzle he'd made.

It wasn't until a busy hour later and he had mechanic's grease on his elbows that the little flip phone lit up with Dean's name.

"Yeah, what is it?" The younger hunter's voice was thin and worn and sounded like too many shots with not enough sleep. A week and a half had done nothing to ease the image of Sam jumping into the cage.

Bobby suddenly regretted the call, but had to press forward to get the information across. "Hey, Dean. Look, since there's no use in sugar-coating or bush-beating things at this point…" He trailed off as there were too many places he could start.

"It'd help if you actually said something, Bobby."

"Heat and E came by." There was a distant thud from the other end of the line, presumably Dean sitting down, and Bobby could imagine his face falling into his hands. "They were finally worried enough about you mooks to come sniffing around after hearing nothing for so long."

Dean's response was immediate and urgent. "What did you tell them?!"

"Nothing. Nothing about Sam or the pit, and I even let them think you were gone, too. As far as they know, the apocalypse is over and took you both out with it. And it needs to be that way, Dean. I want them out of y'all's shitstorm. Unless you have any dire objections?"

Bobby poured himself a cup of coffee from the steaming fresh brew, bracing himself for a barrage of arguments and pleas from the other man.

But none came. "I couldn't go back to them without Sam." His low tone moved to a tense whisper. "And so they think I'm dead, too?"

"Yeah, kid. My judgement calls it the best option." Bobby had never detested the role of wise mentor more than that moment, but the impossible task of somehow keeping everyone sane had to be dealt with. And that meant even more lying, unfortunately. He couldn't have Dean running after the two newest hunters in the bunch. "I'll keep a close eye on them, make sure they get back to their jobs here in Sioux Falls and move on best they can."

Dean coughed into the receiver but the older hunter still heard the telltale rhythmic thumping of pacing across the floor. Dean's voice was still tense as it resorted to apathetic sarcasm. "Yeah, that's, um…that seems to be all that's left, apparently. Head down and move on."

The conversation had run its end, Bobby could feel that with the thundering silence. Too much negativity and bad news had just been tossed around and no amount of small talk or promises for the future would solve any of it at that moment. So he and Dean bid their goodbyes and Bobby stuck a post-it to the cabinet to remind himself to call back in a few days.

Lunch time had come and gone and he had hammered out umpteen dents from a rusty Volkswagen by the time he remembered the new addition to his to-do list for that day. Iced water cooled his veins as a quick online search through Missouri news articles brought him to the type of title he was looking for.

'Fourth Disappearance in Two Months from Abandoned Hebert Manor in Kirksville'

"Nice and easy to start 'em off." Bobby mumbled to himself as he texted coordinates and then dialed Heather's number for the second time that day. After the quick greeting, he said, "Heat, have Erica fill you in on what the term salt-and-burn entails."

 **See? I wouldn't leave canonically-alive Dean for dead.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this little prologue section!**

 **Like, favorite, review, and\or message me to let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 1

**So, in case you didn't notice from the summary or you are new to my writing\this story and just haven't caught on, this is in fact a sequel. The first story is called Rhythm and Rous, and can be found easily under the list of other stories on my profile.**

 **It is basically** _ **imperative**_ **that the original story be read first. The development of relationships in this sequel relies heavily on the characters' pasts as chronicled in R &R. **

**ALSO IMPORTANT, the song "Faithfully" by Journey (though Boyce Avenue's cover is beautiful, too) is what I consider to be the theme song for this sequel, the song that basically summarizes it and gives me MAJOR feels.**

 **But I could actually give y'all a whole playlist of songs that I've heard and collected that tie into the feelings for this story. Lol, I guess lemme know if you'd want that list?**

 **Thanks to everyone who liked\followed so far. Enjoy this official first chapter!**

 _Nearly three years later_ (A\N mid-season eight)

Even with her hand jammed between the seats, Heather's search for another two pennies came up fruitless. Erica huffed and pulled out another dollar to hand to the woman waiting in the drive-through window.

"You get to figure out what to do with the extra ninety-eight cents."

Heather rolled her eyes when the multitude of coins were dumped into her hand and ended up sticking them in the glove box so that they sat jingling against the flask of holy water. Once Erica rolled the window up, the frigid evening air was blocked out and the familiar scent of grease-fried food was surrounding them.

Erica grabbed the unwrapped burger from her friend's outstretched hand and took an appreciative bite as she pulled back out onto Highway 281. The corvette purred under them as it was pushed to ten over the speed limit, making the late November snow accumulate even faster on the windshield.

"God, these fries are stale." Heather spit the piece of potato back into her bag. "And I was really looking forward to them!"

Erica shrugged. "We don't get to be picky, we –"

"Get to be cheap, I know." the blonde finished. "I was just hoping to have a few more carbs before we deal with these witches."

The dashboard clock had just turned to six forty-five when Heather caught sight of the bright green sign that read _Lebanon, KS City Limits_. "It doesn't start 'til seven, right?"

"Cocktails were served earlier, but yeah we've still got a few minutes." Erica scratched at a seam on her ornate dress. The mauve fabric just skimmed her knees, an appropriate length for a high-end charity event; it also left plenty of room for the pistol strapped to her thigh.

It wasn't hard to spot the venue when they were close enough – the massive hotel had its name in flashing lights and there were already cars everywhere. Lebanon wasn't a huge town, but this event had obviously drawn attention from more than a couple cities.

Erica waved the valet away and found a parking spot next to a side exit they'd need for a quick escape. After one last weapons check, Heather opened the car door and let her heels find a sturdy spot in the snow before standing up. Her bare arms were quickly covered in goosebumps. She would've liked to have her thick cargo jacket right about then but it had no place on top of her sophisticated black jumpsuit.

She began scrutinizing her surroundings just like Erica had taught her long ago, because observation was key when on a hunt. Even more so when undercover. Therefore she took in the dozens of people milling around outside, fur coats and woolen blazers covering up bright dresses and sparkling jewels. They were all present for the charity event being held within the brick-lain hotel, where various items were for auction or attendees could simply donate. All the money collected that night would go to benefit a children's research hospital.

At least, that's what the two witches hosting the event wanted the patrons to think.

In reality, not only were they being squandered of their money, but with a few hex bags and a Latin incantation the witches were stealing years of people's lives as well. That's what had Heather and Erica visiting morgue after morgue following a trail of these charity auctions.

And that's why they were now dressed to the nines in a little town in Kansas as young heiresses Erica Knowles and Heather Rowland.

With an iron-plated knife at her hip, Heather filed into the warm ballroom behind the brunette. The gentle swishing of her pants legs against her ankles were a minor comfort as she was enveloped by the crowd that she fit into about as well as a cat does with cows.

The girls split up and the right-hand side of the room became Heather's focus. They only had vague descriptions of what the witch-hostesses looked like, so any lanky redhead or curvy blonde became suspect. After being handed a flute of what smelled like chardonnay, she weaved between the patrons and made small talk in hopes of finding her targets.

When she stopped by the table of refreshments, Heather slid her hand along the underside of the tablecloth and smirked to herself when her fingers closed around a leathery bump. She pulled out the small brown bag and quickly inspected its contents of tiny bones and dried herbs.

"Definitely in the right place." she muttered to herself as she tossed the hex bag into the crackling flames of the hearth in the corner.

The witches must have felt a source of their magic being destroyed, because suddenly Erica was at her side whispering discreetly. "Blonde, purple dress, next to the huge vase."

Heather's eyes followed the instructions and landed on a middle-aged woman with a stare locked onto an older man a few feet away from her. The witch's lips were moving silently, no doubt uttering the spell that Erica had finally pinpointed a few nights before: _Annorum vitӕ tuӕ fieri meum_ , or roughly "years of your life become mine."

"I'll head straight at her, you come from the back, and we'll get her down the hallway to gank her quietly." Erica commanded and began moving fluidly through the crowd. Heather started to follow suit, but suddenly found herself distracted.

The first couple of months she and Erica were hunting together, Heather would subconsciously look for Sam and Dean wherever they went. She'd wait for them to walk into the local sheriff's office, or to see the impala come rolling up to the same motel where they were staying. There would be double-takes at men in burger joints that were not Dean, and the same for any plaid passing by at a run-down gas station. But after a year or so, as reality got a better hold of her, the Winchesters began fading a bit, functioning more as a complex memory than a possibility.

So when Heather caught sight of a living, breathing Sam Winchester across the ballroom, she nearly screamed.

Her feet became concrete and the room dimmed. If her stomach even had a bottom any more she couldn't feel it. Everything was in slow motion and too fast at the same time. It felt like there was smoke in her lungs compromising her breathing and that same smoke was clouding her mind with _he can't be real, you were never gonna see him again, snap out of it._

Any astonishment or doubt was suddenly overthrown by an absolute indignation in her bloodstream; no slow burn about it, just an unadulterated beacon of ire. And yet she felt her legs walking slowly, steadily across the gleaming tiles; even Mother Theresa couldn't have looked calmer at that moment. But by now Erica's combat lessons had ingrained themselves as Heather's most rudimentary instinct right behind blinking, and so without even registering it her fingers curled inward, thumb wrapped around the outside, and her fist was ever so slightly angled down.

Her technique allowed the perfect placement to slam her knuckles into Sam's left cheekbone.

He had turned and caught her gaze a split second before the blow landed – those same eyes Heather remembered were sprung wide with disbelief. _At least he's not a ghost_ , was the only coherent thought she was able to conjure while still trying to process the last fifteen seconds.

The world around them that she had previously been successful at muting suddenly leapt to life as it reacted to the punch. There were gasps and whispers and somebody dropped their mimosa, leaving the orange liquid to seep between glass shards on the floor. Heather was a single torch in a darkened cave with every eye in the room scraping over her skin.

And then there was a bullet blasted straight into the base of her spine.

At least, that's what it felt like. A hand, warm and broad and calloused and one whose touch she remembered far too well. It splayed across the expanse of her back where the skin was bared by the cut of her jumpsuit. Heather was desperate to move, to run and get away from the searing memories that the touch brought up, but all she found herself able to do was close her eyes.

But his voice, the one she could remember every nuance to, sliced through her own personal darkness. "Ma'am, you've assaulted a federal officer. I'm gonna need you to step this way with me."

The obvious snark in his tone made her blood start boiling again. He wasn't allowed to be that nonchalant about seeing her, about touching her again. He was dead, and she was never going to see him again.

And so she finally turned to face him, the man who her mind had locked behind opaque doors as soon as she'd seen the younger brother. The man who she had been at war with herself to not think about.

Dean stood less than a foot away, his fingers still ever so slightly grazing at the black cotton over her shoulder blade. His face and shoulders had filled out, though it looked like he had more than a few years of wear resting in his features. And _goddammit_ she had resigned from dreaming about those green eyes long ago.

"It's alright, folks," he soothed the uneasy crowd while waving around his ID badge, "we're FBI, we'll take care of it."

At that moment Erica emerged from the crowd like a reluctant volunteer, her wavering steps contrasting the infallible stare she had trained on Sam. He met her eyes and his jaw fell slightly open. They were the wrong sides of two magnets, seeming like they would be yanked together and collide but at there was a deeper force keeping them at bay.

Seeing Erica pale even more, Heather once again felt the urge to get away, to save both of them from the sting of this new reality in front of them. "Can we do this somewhere else, Agents?" she hissed before grabbing Erica's hand and making for the hallway. Her palm was clammy, too, and Heather was minutely glad to not be the only one who figured sword swallowing would be less of a nightmare at the moment.

A couple turns down the corridor brought Heather's stride to a halt in front of an empty conference room. Its walls were a dull enough shade of gray to not grate on any raw nerves. Erica walked to the back of the room with her fingers clutched to her temple, and Sam sat a few feet away, his lips pressed in a line and a hand still massaging the bruise blooming on his cheek.

Heather would've welcomed a pebble in her shoe at the moment because it would give her something _else_ to think about besides Dean's very alive form leaning against the far wall or his silver ring that was always tucked in her makeup bag or the tingle still etched into her spine where his hand had been minutes before.

A knife could not have cut the tension draped in the air around the four hunters; a battle ax would have been more useful. Which is why when Erica murmured the first words, they were nearly inaudible.

"What did you say, Erica?" Sam fought to even form her name with his lips.

She picked her head up from its spot on the wall and squared her shoulders at the others. Her voice carried more strength than Heather could even consider at the moment, and was even tinged with a bit of haughtiness. "I asked if you were alright. You're pretty alive for a couple of guys dead for three years."

"Don't need to worry about any monster business." Dean spoke up, making a show of taking a swig from the flask of holy water from his blazer pocket. "And Sam's cuff links are silver, does that cover the bases?" When met with silence, he continued. "Look, we're on a hunt. These monkey suits aren't just for fun. Sammy was actually on his way to gank the nasty thing when Heather so violently interrupted."

The taller man cleared his throat and shot him a warning glance. "You don't know how sorry I am that this had to happen." Sam glanced back and forth between the girls, hands open and eyes pleading. "I can't even find the right words –"

"Then can we pretend it never happened? Not even worry about the words?" A calm had come over Heather, one that was barely restraining tides of resentment and grief. She had managed to compose herself before her fists connected with someone else's face, but her feet were constantly wanting to comply with the part of her mind that was screaming to get away. "I'd like to leave now, Erica."

She hazarded a glance at the older Winchester, which turned out to be the most devastating moment of the night so far. A serrated knife twisted in her diaphragm at the sight of his dropped façade – his thick eyelashes were spread wide and the perturbed dimples that made an appearance at the corners of his mouth told of shock and guilt and everything Heather had been unsure he even felt at seeing her again.

If she wasn't careful, she would've let herself walk closer to his defeated stance. Maybe even graze her fingers over the starched white shirt sleeves as she tried to explain her life after him. Was it too rash to leave now, with even more questions and less closure than the previous years had held?

"Exit's to the left, Heather. Let's go." Erica's voice shook the blonde out of her painful reverie and served as reinforcement to the original decision.

The rhythm of Heather's heels against the floor echoed as loudly as the grandfather clock striking eight o'clock at the end of the hallway. The distance to the door and their escape from the Winchesters stretched longer and longer until finally Erica pushed it open with a sharp creak.

An icy breeze engulfed them instantly, once again rendering the pearls resting against Heather's chest to a near-freezing temperature. Erica moved to rest their elbows together as the boys finished pulling on their long wool overcoats they'd picked up from the coat room.

And then they all became still and quiet, with the droning of the auction in the background and streetlamps providing a dull glow for the solemn gazes cast back and forth. Goodbyes might have been said, or maybe they wouldn't have parted ways at all, but Dean's phone rang shrilly through the tense air, jolting the four back into the austere reality set before them.

 **I'd love to hear y'all's feedback!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'm delighted that y'all seem to be enjoying the story!**

Erica was not breathing. She knew she should, but she wasn't. She could feel her pulse hammering away against her throat and hear the thunder of blood craving oxygen, but her mind was too busy spinning around Sam to focus on any other vital tasks.

What started out as a textbook-simple witch hunt had turned into an episode of the Young and the Restless. Erica liked to think her life was anything but a poorly constructed soap opera spin off, but Sam and Dean Winchester, the two bastards who decided to rejoin the world of the living, seemed determined to prove otherwise.

The call Dean received was a small blessing and Erica felt like face planting into the fresh powder of snow when they excused themselves to speak in not-so-hushed tones. She heard something about a "Garth" and a new case. Considering Heather's little mêlée sent the witches scattering, this one was officially a bust.

"E." Dean Winchester was always a touch oriented person. His hand froze a hair away from her wrist to get her attention. He was smart enough not to close the distance. Erica was not sure if she would break his hand or just have a full blown break down.

"Sam and I have got to get moving. Garth wants to meet up and give us the details on a new case. What are you two even doing here?" He cut his eyes towards Heather, curling his lips downward.

"You don't owe us any explanation and we don't owe you one. Just leave like you always do." Heather snapped before swiping the clutch from Erica's palm and digging out the car keys. Her heels punctuated the snow as she strode away. A slam of a car door and the angry revving of an engine drowned out the ongoing party noises in the building behind them.

Dean hesitated before heading off to the opposite side of the parking lot with the impala keys spinning between his fingers. Sam was already gone and Erica was glad. She sank to the ground when they were out of site, letting the snow melt through her dress and her weak legs sprawl out before her. The cold wrapped around her, but never seemed to offer respite for her overheated body.

A thousand new questions piled on top of old ones as she sat, allowing her mind to spin her into a woozy state. Bobby said they were dead three years ago. Bobby would not lie. Well, he would, but only if necessary. Was it necessary to keep the Winchesters a secret from Erica and her hunting partner? Or had they come back on their own? Did Bobby even know?

She pulled out her go-phone to glare at Bobby's number listed under 'Dancer.' Her teeth chattered, as she fought the old habit to call him. He was dead. She'd missed his funeral, but was gratingly aware that he was gone. Unless he was alive and kicking somewhere just like his nephews. She couldn't bring herself to find use of her legs to free herself from the confines of the ever-growing snow drift around her.

The screen lit up, volume still silenced from the formal event. Maureen's name floated across the caller ID followed by several comedic emojis of bubbly animals Maureen had entered herself.

"Hey little sis." Erica spoke, fortunately finding her voice professionally aloof. Meanwhile, the cocktails she'd consumed were debating whether or not to make a reappearance.

"I have a problem." Maureen announced.

"Are you hurt? Are you being hunted? Did a hunt go wrong?" Erica asked instantly, concern for her younger sibling overshadowing the mysterious case of the reappearing Winchesters.

"I'm fine. I got a cool new scar from a vamp a few weeks back that I want to show you. But I was tracking this strange guy. I knew he was something supernatural, but I didn't know what until I followed him tonight. He's a demon, E. And he's meeting with a few more. I know I'm not qualified for this, so I thought I'd bring you and Heather in. Maybe you could show me some ropes about how to handle a situation like this."

"That's very mature of you. Let us grab a few winks of sleep tonight and we'll swing by for the rundown first thing in the morning. You waking up before noon these days?"

"Sunrise jogs to keep ahead of the bad guys." Maureen affirmed.

Erica set up a meeting time and slid her phone back into the side of her ankle boots. Rubbing a hand along her black tights and drawing a steady breath, she decided she was stable enough to drive. Heather had the car approximately the temperature of the Sahara by the time Erica slid into the driver's seat.

"Hope you didn't get frostbite. I'm not going back for any toes. My bed is calling to me." Heather deadpanned.

"Maureen is a couple hours out. She needs our help with a case tomorrow." Erica informed, manicured hands tapping through the local radio stations and settling on some smooth jazz. Heather always convinced her to get the ragged nails done, no matter how impractical for their lifestyle. It was one of the remnants of the ex-lawyer's old life she liked to indulge in.

"Anything to get away from here. Can you believe the absolute arrogant nerve of them showing up like this? And then Dean pulls out the FBI bullshit." Heather peeled off her heels and tucked her rosy toes under her thighs to warm. She tugged at the short strands of blonde hair escaping from her intricate bun. With a huff of irritation, she pulled the mass free and tucked the pins away in her mouth.

"Well, you did punch his brother." Erica allowed.

"Don't pretend you didn't want to. We're talking about the guy who screwed you, claimed he loved you, and then supposedly got himself killed because he was too stupid to ask for help when facing the apocalypse."

"Definitely not dead." Erica mused.

"Definitely not undead. So someone played us for fools along the way." Heather hit the dashboard to convey her frustration at the world.

An open road carefully cleared of snow sent Erica's mind crawling back to the charity event. _She'd been unceremoniously discarding the third hex bag she'd come across that evening while casually meandering to where the blonde witch drained yet another victim. Her gun pressed reassuringly to her thigh and her brown waves hung around her face like blinders. She'd been so caught up in the witch that she forgot to make sure if Heather was rounding behind her. She didn't process the sound of a punch until a beat after it happened. The red haired witch ran up to her companion, cast one look at a scene over Erica's shoulder and they vanished out of an emergency exit hand in hand._

 _Erica felt the silence more than heard it. It dug into her gut and warned her not to turn around. But she had to, because she had no doubt that whatever was happening was the cause of Heather's distraction. She saw Heather first and the tight draw of her shoulders indicating barely withheld rage. And for good reason, she discovered as another figure moved into view._

 _Dean Winchester began to talk to Heather. Erica laughed. She laughed hysterically with her sides seizing up in the effort, earning amused glances from party goers who assumed she'd had one too many drinks. She raised her right boot up, fingering the silver blade tucked away inside. Shifter. Walking corpse. A string of possibilities flew through her head until Heather shifted just a fraction of an inch. Then her mind went blank and the laugh curdled like spoiled milk in her mouth._

 _He knew. He always knew what she was thinking. It seems the years apart, and potentially time spent as a corpse, did nothing to lessen this. In the swirling sea of people, Sam picked her out like a man possessed; that was one of the more legitimate possibilities in her mind right now. Waving a flare about might have been the only way to capture his gaze faster._

 _He smiled then and Erica felt her knees turn rubber. Because only Sam knew how to part his lips in happy disbelief just so and cue up only one of the pair of dimples._

She slammed on the breaks, feeling the car skid for a stomach-lifting moment on the thin ice before settling to a stop. With most of the nightlife focused around the charity event, no other cars roamed this side of the highway. Her head fell to the steering wheel as tears clawed paths down her cheeks. An ache started in her toes and worked its way up to twist her stomach into a maze, strangle her lungs, and turn her heart upside down.

A terrible grating sound drowned out the radio and it wasn't until she hiccuped and stuttered over her breathing that Erica realized it was her own appalling sobbing. She heard Heather speaking distantly but could not make sense of any words. All she could seem to focus on was Sam. The first time he walked into her apartment with hair that flopped into his eyes and a parka that hung off him to accommodate the excessive height, and then tonight with his brown locks grown out and nearly brushing the tops of his shoulders and a fitted black suit. He was no longer that kid fresh out of Stanford.

There was something painfully different about him. He was not the bright-eyed boy she'd fallen in love with. He was a man who'd experienced and seen horrendous things that left a haunted look in those hazel irises.

He was alive and she didn't care how long that had been a fact. She didn't care that his first goal probably hadn't been to track her down. Did he even know she and Heather were hunters?

"He's alive. They're alive, Heat. God, shit." Another laugh bubbled forth to promptly end the shedding of tears. "Just…" Erica buried her face in her hands, painful smile stretching her quivering cheeks wide.

"So it seems." Heather patted her friend's head, glaring at the road ahead.

"Why are you so upset? They were our friends and they're alive. We should be ecstatic. Why did you punch Sam?"

"Why, you gonna hook up with him for old times' sake?"

"Stop." Erica narrowed her brown eyes, voice tightening.

"It was more out of shock than anything. I couldn't believe it, so I reacted as a hunter. I figured he was a ghost, but when I hit him it was real. And then Dean was real and he was so nonchalant about us being there, about them fucking breathing right in front of us! It just infuriated me."

"You don't get it…"

"I am as much of a hunter as you. Do _not_ tell me I don't get things."

Erica cranked the engine, realizing she'd stalled it somehow in her hurricane of emotions. She shifted them back into drive and moved back into the rhythm of the endless road. She locked her mouth, refusing to add a full blown argument with Heather to her list of worries. The blonde, however, had no such reservations.

"Bobby was probably in on it, too. He probably knew they were alive the whole time and kept sending hunts our way to keep us distracted."

"Maybe." Erica agreed softly.

Heather's hazel eyes flared and she huffed, breath fogging up the passenger window. "Can't believe you're taking their side."

"Yes, that's exactly what's happening."

"Shut up!" Heather griped.

"No, no. You wanted to hash this out. Let's go at it. Might as well fight each other while we're dealing with witches and demons and Winchesters."

"Oh my." Heather muttered.

The lighthearted quote shifted the tension slightly from their shoulders. It reminded both women that they needed each other to endure this. It made Erica realize that there wasn't a person in the world who could better empathize with her emotions than her shotgun rider.

Heather rolled down the window just slightly to stick her red face into the onslaught of winter air. Erica's eyes burned and her cheeks stung, but her heart was slowly dispelling all doubt and fear from her bones. Sam was alive and that was enough for her.

* * *

Now that Sam lay with his sheets tucked around his legs and folded just under his arms, every sensible word and logical justifications for his past actions came to his mind. As the soft sounds of the humming heater and other creaks and groans from around the bunker engulfed him, he imagined explaining everything to Erica. How he became a vessel for Lucifer and fell into Hell to trap him back in his cage. How he came back soulless and how, when he regained that vital part of anatomy, the thought of going back into Erica's life was too painful. He had been gone two years at that point and surely she must have moved on. He could not be selfish enough to uproot her life.

Then he'd seen her in the most unlikely of settings tonight. With her velvet dress skirting muscles that were more toned than he remembered. He knew he had changed in their time apart, but she looked so much the same. It had been painful to look, much less speak to her. What was so special about Lebanon, Kansas that it would see fit to bring the old group back together?

The whirling questions sent him straggling out of the tangle of sheets and padding down the cool concrete hallway. The well-traversed path from his bedroom to Dean's prized kitchen seemed longer in his drowsy state, but like the famed leprechaun at the end of a rainbow, his older brother was found sitting among the various cooking appliances. He was hunched over his laptop and his fingers were laced around a mug of what could not have been coffee.

"Dean." Sam's whisper shattered the calm of the white-tiled room.

His brother slanted his eyes away from the screen, the kitchen's dim lighting barely hanging on between them. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm awake. But this isn't a slumber party and we're not about to share deep dark secrets." Indeed, his voice had no waver of sleep embracing it; it was strong and yet indicated that he was also plagued by the memories of a past they considered placed safely away. And tonight that past had strutted up to them in heels that could easily serve as daggers in case a proper weapon was unaccounted for.

"Don't start bitching about your face either. You should be able to take a hit from Heather." Dean continued.

"It was a legit punch, Dean. I don't remember teaching her to hit like that."

"Erica must have taught her." Dean moved to the sink and began washing out the brown ceramic mug, though Sam knew that didn't mean he was heading to bed soon. If Dean wanted sleep, he'd be knocking back a few more cupfuls.

"We need to talk to them." Sam started.

"Right, let me just pull a way to contact them out of my ass. You know, they left for a reason tonight. They didn't want to fucking talk to us, Sam."

"Yeah, and they probably didn't want us to leave in the first place!" Sam's arms flailed for emphasis, sending tendrils of his mussed hair to fight with his eyelashes.

Dean leaned against the granite slab with an exasperated laugh. "Well, don't you think we had a bit more to deal with before running back to them? Apocalypses and demon blood addictions don't take care of themselves. Besides, you heard what Garth said. We've gotta go take some big hunt off of a newbie's hands."

"It's a basic gig. We can spare a few hours to find them and explain why we aren't dead."

"Heather said they didn't care and, you know what, I say good for them. Clearly they're moving on well enough."

No more words were spoken and no goodnights were said because both knew no one was going to be enjoying much needed rest this night.

 **Let me know how you're liking the progression! Much love, xoxo**


	4. Chapter 3

Getting hugged by Maureen was something Erica often compared to being attacked by a werewolf. Her sister's petite form possessed a back-cracking strength Erica always had to brace herself for. She inhaled sharply when the young caramel-haired girl released her and went in for Heather. The blonde, however, took initiative and hugged the girl lightly and efficiently before stepping back and opening up a new striped notebook she'd purchased from a cheap souvenir shop across from their motel.

On the blank side of the cover Heather had doodled Maureen's name with the blocky title "Demons" under it. She liked to use a different notebook for each creature they came across. Because this was her first demon hunt, she was dancing on her toes as she often did when she got to don a formal pencil skirt and fitted button up shirt.

"Ok, so what's the most important thing to know about demons?" Heather bit the end of her pen.

"Oh, I know this one!" Maureen cut off Erica's response and moved to the center of her motel room.

Her clothes were strewn out across the king sized bed and notes coated the sofa like a protective cover. The theme of outer space dominated the small room. The walls were a metallic silver and glitter seemed to be sewn into the carpet.

"They leave behind traces of sulfur. Hit them with holy water and they're down for the count. There's no way to kill them. Only exorcism works and to do that you have to lure them into a demon trap. Damn, there was something else." Maureen worked her jaw as she thought over what else she had researched about the servants of the biggest baddie in the monster world.

"Salt." Erica added absentmindedly. She was admiring the coffee still sitting in a pot. Her debate about how good of a quality the motel could actually provide soon lost when her total of zero hours of sleep sent her head spinning.

"Isn't salt like a given? When in doubt, salt." Heather input, chewing the cap of her pen.

"That's a pretty safe bet." Erica allowed. What the coffee lacked in flavor, it made up for by scorching her tongue so that the taste did not matter. Erica drank down the liquid fire, grateful for the blaring wakeup call now rocketing through her system.

Air fresheners dangled from pegs above the wall vents and batted against the grates as the heater released their scent of baby powder. Heather had cleared a space on the bed and arranged herself along with her notes amongst the mess. Her pen scribbled furiously as Maureen prattled on about how she'd stumbled across this case. She was so proud to have tracked a group of demons without their knowledge, but not proud enough to refuse to ask for help. At least their parents drilled that into them. When it came to hunting, one could never afford to take risks.

A knock came from the front door and Maureen dashed over. Erica considered backing her up until she saw the girl pushing up the back of her frumpy navy cardigan to reveal the silver handle of a gun. She could take care of herself, Erica decided, coaxing the last few drops of her coffee out of the mug. She turned to rinse it out in the sink while Maureen opened the door.

A crack rang through the motel room, overpowering the sound of the clunky heater and water running from the faucet.

Erica had her gun free from her snow boots in a flash and was a moment away from firing before she looked at her target. Maureen had her long frame stretched to its fullest height so that she could glare Sam Winchester straight in the jaw.

Right where she had clocked him.

"Really? _Really!"_ Dean voiced everyone's thoughts. His head was thrown back so he could properly accuse God of this second meeting.

"When did you start praying?" Heather crossed her arms, looking as if she was the one who'd been punched twice in as many days.

"The hell are you two doing here?" Dean appealed to Erica in hopes of a serious answer.

"You don't remember me, Dean?" Maureen batted her eyelashes with a sneer.

"You look a little young for my taste, sweetheart."

"Can I get some ice?" Sam asked.

Erica spun around to cup the steadily falling water in her palms. She pressed it against her face, holding her hands until the bickering whirlwind of voices behind her subsided. She refused to believe in coincidences, but what else could she call this?

"I called them." Maureen was saying when Erica zoned back in.

"Yeah? Well Garth called us and asked if we'd help some newbie nose-deep in demon shit." Dean responded. They were squaring off and Erica wondered if she should separate them before their words turned into physical blows.

"I told Garth I had it covered."

"You're too young to cover this by yourself, kid." Dean retorted.

"Which is why she called us." Heather cut in, producing her handheld gun from the inside of her copper leather jacket.

Dean stared as if she pulled Houdini himself out of a hat. Heather smirked at catching him off guard. She tucked it away and swept her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ears. With alluring hazel eyes, she cocked a hip and leaned forward, daring him to question her.

"You're a hunter?" Dean sputtered.

"No. It's a new lawyer thing. Some deals can get pretty hairy. We all carry these around just in case a client decides to renege."

"Cut the bullshit, Heather." Both flinched at the use of her full name. Gone was the flirtatious and playful relationship they'd once maintained. Left were only sour memories and hostility.

"Please." Erica spoke for the first time. Four pairs of eyes swiveled to her. "Mar, tell them everything we know so far. If Garth wants them on the case, fine, but I'm not copping out. Dean, Heat, we're working together so at least pretend to be civil. Sam, the ice bucket is over here."

"Can't believe you didn't tell me you your saw your living breathing ex last night." Maureen grumbled as she obeyed the orders.

Dean and Heather stationed themselves at opposite corners of the room. Sam tiptoed through the tension into the little safety net Erica cast over the kitchen. After her breakdown last night, she was back to feeling numb. Even as Sam's eyes scraped at her skin and stoked their past flame, her insides remained empty. That was perfect. She needed to remain professional in this situation.

There was an oval bruise on Sam's cheek already surfacing from his altercation with Heather the night before. Now another would form to match just a few inches lower on his jaw. "They use the same technique." Sam noted as Erica scooped ice into a dicey rag. Dirt was smeared on the side from multiple uses through the years, but Sam accepted it gratefully.

"Taught them both." Erica replied shortly.

"What happened to the police job?" he asked softly. His brown hair was long enough to touch his shoulders and tuck behind his ears. Pieces fell into his eyes and brushed the tip of his nose. She felt nothing when looking at him and allowed a tempered smile to pass her defenses. She knew Heather would have fired back a question about what happened to them visiting.

Instead she said, "With you gone, there was nothing to hold me there. I love Jody and I loved Bobby, but I couldn't stay knowing there were two less hunters protecting the world. I had to do my part, you know?"

He nodded along to the logical explanation, wincing when he put too much pressure on his face. "I did die; so did Dean at one point too, actually." He laughed awkwardly and Erica moved to sit on the counter by where he stood, proper distance left in the middle. "It's a really, really long story." He pulled the ice away to better arrange it within the confines of the burnt orange rag. "I think I only deserved that first hit."

"Heat's royally pissed, in case you missed the subtle signs." Sam laughed, right cheek dimpling just below his single freckle. "But, yeah, Maureen can get pretty passionate about things sometimes."

Erica moved instinctually. She always followed her instincts; that was what kept her alive on the hunt. Now, it was sure to get her into trouble. Before he could return the ice to the inflamed skin, she reached out and rested her fingers lightly on the edge. Hastily, she corrected her actions with more appropriate words. "It's not terrible. You must have at least tried to avoid this one. A few days tops."

She hopped down and moved into the sleep area as Maureen finished the second retelling of her thrilling and exceptionally epic journey to arrive at this point.

"We need a game plan." Erica clapped her hands.

"Let's get rid of these bastards. We can set up a trap and round them into it then have ourselves a little group exorcism session." Dean suggested.

"I think we actually might be better off staking them out and seeing what we overhear. They keep talking about Abaddon. I know she's been off the grid for a while. Maybe they have information." Maureen suggested.

"Abaddon's in pieces, kid. I did the chopping myself." Dean interrupted.

"Ever think they know something you don't?" Heather snapped at Dean, but her eyes were fixed on Maureen.

"We can always find out. We stake out tonight and if nothing vital comes up, then we waste them tomorrow. Everyone ok with this?" Erica asked.

Dean raised his hand, holding up the wall with his other shoulder.

"What?" Erica sighed.

"I'm not comfortable watching two amateurs' asses in the field. They stay." He nodded bluntly towards Heather and Maureen. Erica maneuvered herself between the three to dissuade any potential spats.

"Heather has been with me for years. Maureen had been training since she figured out how to hide a pocket knife in her pull-ups. They come. We can split up and they can hang with me if that makes you happy."

Dean shrugged as if the argument meant nothing to him. Lethargically, all packed their gear and mildly debated about which car to take. None were eager to spend the half hour drive in cramped quarters. Erica and Heather opted out, with their two-seater corvette. Dean opted for Baby, but in a four-to-one vote, lost to Maureen's minivan. More spacious – all agreed.

The five causally meandered down to the parking lot and Dean groaned when he saw the sea foam green mini. "If you wanted to cut off my balls, you could have just said so."

Maureen shifted her bags to the passenger seat, opening up the trunk for the others to discard their assorted weapons. Heather claimed the center row of seats and pulled Erica firmly to her other side. After a brief stare down with the elder Winchester, Sam pushed past and scrunched his body in order to crawl into the far back. Dean purposefully smothered Heather as he scooted past and the woman smacked his shoulder.

Before any were buckled, Maureen sent the car puttering onto the surface street. More groaning from Dean followed as she clicked her blinker and cautiously changed lanes.

"Something big must've happened to get you out of that law firm, Heather. You loved that job." Sam leaned onto the back of Erica's headrest to address her.

"I love Erica more." Heather responded without hesitation.

"Awe, how cute." Dean commented.

"Shut up. I wasn't about to let her go out there by herself."

Erica shifted uncomfortably in her chair, accidently causing Sam's splayed fingers to graze the base of her throat. Both parties pulled away. She glanced back, tuning out the Deather bickering as she locked eyes with Sam. Green bits crept into the brown irises. His lashes cast shadows onto the swells of his cheeks and his tan skin drank in the dull streetlamp light let in through the windows.

What was she thinking? She had failed to resist those pleading eyes once before. She remembered exactly how it felt to be in love with Sam. How his hand would seek hers out during the most insignificant of moments. How he always felt the need to talk every single thing through. How the simplest of smirks from him could shoot her heartbeat higher than the clouds.

Just like it was now.

..

This is a job.

It's a job, it's a job, we're on a hunt, you've done this before.

The mantra wrapping itself around Heather's cerebellum was one that often came up when she first started hunting. Reminding herself of exactly what was going on, what she was there to do, and that the whole process was slowly becoming familiar.

A dumb idea, maybe, but college psych classes shouldn't go to waste.

Grounding herself to her surroundings was the next step. Making sure she knows it's all realistic and she isn't daydreaming this part. It's a real hunt and she should prepare herself for it. Therefore, she meticulously noted her environment – the stained taupe interior of the minivan, the dull glow from Erica's phone as her GPS guided them to the correct abandoned warehouse, a quarter-moon casting a barely noticeable shine against the treeline, and the mutters and groans of the eldest Winchester right behind her.

It was that last notation that had her clawing at the door handle when they finally reached the customary fifty-yard perimeter. Maureen had cut the lights a mile back, and patted the dashboard as she quietly coaxed the van's engine off. Once everyone was comfortably sure that they wouldn't be filleted demon victims upon exiting, the five silently filed out into the night's cold embrace.

"Y'all sure you don't want a little skirmish?" Dean's whisper was aimed over Heather's head to an annoyed Sam. "Something to keep our blood from freezing right in our frickin' veins?"

Sam rolled his eyes and moved to peer over Maureen's shoulder at the warehouse blueprints. Three doors, six windows, and nearly a thousand square feet of space that the hellspawn could have their rendezvous.

"Splitting up makes sense if we wanna have the best chance of hearing something." Heather gave herself a pat down, mentally ticking off weapons concealed by leather or denim. Her jeans fit more snugly than they had a couple years ago – heavy lifting and frequent running had built up more of her muscle than strutting in heels to a penthouse conference room ever could have.

If only they could see her now.

Erica tied off a sloppy braid like she'd done hundreds of times before. She could still maintain some of her normal hunting practices, even with the Winchesters there as a smarting reminder of the abnormal situation. "And splitting up is our _only_ strategy, Dean. We'll let Maureen decide which group goes where, but we're definitely playing old fashioned girls versus boys. So get in there, shut up and listen –"

"And don't die." he finished, waving a strangely engraved knife that immediately piqued the women's interest.

"What's with the weird blade?" Heather's already crossed arms became even more tightly coiled.

Dean gingerly tucked it back into an army green pocket over his ribs. "You don't know? Aren't you a hunter?"

She wanted to beat the smugness out of his voice with a hammer.

Sam finished folding the blueprints and shot an apologetic glance at Erica. "Look, long story short, it's a blade that can kill demons. Comes in handy if we get jumped by 'em. Now can we get our shit together and move?"

"If you insist, Sammy. Lead the way. Time to find out who's better at gossiping."

The words sprinted out of Heather's mouth in as much of a forceful whisper as the quiet meadow would allow. "Three years of no communication at all and now you wanna see who can talk the most?"

Dean's glare cut through the breeze to settle harshly against her own eyes. Even in midnight's dark grip, Heather could see that she and Dean's old relationship was doused in a sepia tone; their happiness was in the past. Tension – raw, unnerving tension – was going to be the only manner of functioning while they were once again forced together.

She felt Erica's fingers close firmly over her shoulder, drawing her attention back to Maureen's expectant gaze.

"I want Sam and Dean to cover the two windows on the left, and use the front door for access to the office area if that's where the meeting ends up. The three of us will take the rear windows with direct access to the main storage zone."

Quiet once again fell onto the group as soon as the instructions were given. The hunter mode was definitively switched _on_ , complete with stealthy steps and a knack for silent communication. Once they reached a wide clearing and could see the warehouse at a distance, Dean flicked his fingers to the left for his younger brother to follow as they maneuvered to the dictated stakeout point.

Heather watched Erica's footfalls in front of her, taking care to align her bootprint in the flattened grass. Flowers were long gone from this middle-of-nowhereland, and dreary weather conditions had done their part in yellowing any remaining foliage. The unclouded sky had the brilliance of a Swarovski gown as it glittered from higher above than any man could breathe.

It was the kind of scene that Heather would usually make Erica stop for, to let them both get out of a weapon-loaded corvette and be two normal young women, even if just for a moment to look at the stars.

If they weren't on a time-sensitive, sound-sensitive, just generally high-risk hunt. _Friggin' demons._

As soon as the warehouse came into earshot, Maureen crouched low before continuing her limber steps and motioned the other two to follow. Heather could tell it was hard on Erica to let her younger sister be on the front lines, even though she was disguising her concern well. She had a finger twisted in the ends of her dark braid and the other hand rested on the flask at her belt. Every muted step took them closer to the danger.

There was a low rumble of voices from inside the warehouse, and they could only hope and pray that it wouldn't turn into a catastrophic earthquake of a demon brawl. The corner of the building finally came into view, though it was hard to distinguish where anything began or ended in the poor lighting, and the trio crept around to the back.

The warehouse was structured just like the blueprints had shown, thankfully. No surprises yet. Three windows lined up, three women lined up. Erica had silently convinced Maureen to take the middle window so at least she wouldn't be on the more vulnerable outskirts.

"You've been on it for a month! And have absolutely nothing to show for yourself?" The first distinguishable voice was raspy and had condescension woven in its inflection.

The warehouse's rough brick exterior was plowing grooves into Heather's back through more layers of clothes than she even remembered putting on. But it wasn't enough to warrant changing her excellent positioning: just left of the window, a safe distance from the roof's dim floodlight beam, and an even farther away from a sketchy snake hole. A hibernating snake was still one too many.

She focused her eyes on the blackness of the forest a few yards away, dimming her visual sense to help hone the auditory one.

The woman, ahem, demon getting fussed at was trying to hide her nervousness under confidence. "We've been doing the best we can with the search. Scattered body parts aren't exactly a common occurrence."

"Why did we think trusting witches was anywhere near a good idea?!"

Witches? The woman was a witch? Heather dared a glance down to the other side of the building and could barely make out Erica's expression, but she could see that her gears were turning, too. Were the witches they'd been hunting connected to the demons?

"The more help we have, the wider the search can be. Abbadon was always about efficiency." A third voice said with the nasally tone of a sidekick.

"It's not efficient if nothing gets done." The distinct _click, click_ of expensive shoes echoed against the concrete walls, presumably voice #1 pacing to intimidate the hired witch. "I want you and your filthy sister to get a message out to all your little friends that I've employed. I get results soon, or I start terminating deals! And that means a whole lot more slimy souls to play with downstairs."

The wind picked up and brushed a cold sting against Heather's bare cheeks. Then a single snowflake danced across her vision, followed by dozens of its brethren as snowclouds moved to obscure the moon. As if they really needed something cold and crunchy to wade through.

The voices inside the warehouse had died down after more nasty threats and sarcastic goodbyes. Soon there was silence, and even a few lights flickered back on when the demon presences left. But not a single hunter moved, letting white flakes accumulate on scuffed boots and unkempt hair. Heather's breath billowed steam in front of her as her legs started to scream at the severed circulation.

Her watch ticked past many empty minutes, a silent waiting game to be sure no straggling demons were around to catch them off guard. Finally Erica's arm came as a waving signal to move out. Heather's toes prickled back to life upon standing, and the rest of her legs followed suit like dawn melting an icy cave.

The snow was falling thicker by the minute, dampening overcoats and catching on eyelashes. And it was already hard enough to see through a dark clearing in the middle of the night. Heather could hear Maureen breathing warm air onto her frigid fingertips, and she started to do the same before her hair got snagged in a low-hanging tree branch.

"Ow! Dammit." Even in a hushed tone her voice was blade sharp as it cut across the snow-muted clearing.

"Heat, you alright?" Erica had whirled around, pistol aimed over Heather's right shoulder at the non-existent monster. She lowered it and shook her head when she saw the blonde tresses twirled around the twigs, walking over to help free her friend from the tree's clutches.

The Winchesters came jogging around the corner of the warehouse looking for the commotion. Once they recognized no threat, they relaxed their defensive instincts that had riled up, shoulders lowering and breaths puffed out. But Dean's miniscule eyeroll at Heather's predicament did not escape her notice. Maybe years ago she would've read it as playful, just another moment they could laugh at later.

But she knew better. Getting on each other's nerves came first now.

"Could y'all hear anything?" Sam asked, mindful to not outpace the others with his large steps on the trek back to the van. "We could only understand bits and pieces."

Erica curled her fingers deeper in her coat pockets. "Yeah, they were standing only a few feet from our windows. I thought they made me at one point, but it was just an awkward pause in conversation. The demons were too busy fussing at witches to mind us, anyway."

"Witches? Why were there witches?" His hand reached out and rested on the brunette's shoulder blade for a fleeting second before he seemed to catch himself and gently pull away. Heather noticed a faint shine in Erica's eyes that seemed to be something between longing for warmth and reminiscent love.

Maureen broke up the doe-eyed gazing by stomping to the front of the group, crunching snow triumphantly as she picked up the storytelling. "The demons were scolding the witches for having no leads on some search, probably for Abbadon's body parts. And they also mentioned deals, as in the witches were contracted and did some soul-selling crap with the demons. Nasty business."

"So you're saying we stumbled onto a witch-demon information smuggling ring?" Dean was incredulous. "Of course it couldn't be simple."

The minivan finally came into view, a chunky blessing on four wheels for five cold hunters. Weapons were emptied back into the trunk and Maureen started the engine, relieved that it hadn't become frozen and inoperable.

"Why don't you let me drive home, Mar?" Erica's voice was as gentle as possible, hoping to win her stubborn younger sister over. "Heat and I have been on the road with our hunting more than you."

When Maureen didn't immediately answer and looked ready to protest, Heather jumped to her friend's aide. "We've been doing this awhile, Maureen. E drives us everywhere," and suddenly she felt herself glaring at the eldest Winchester, "down more icy roads than you'd care to hear about."

Erica was quick enough to diffuse the stiffness thrown in the air before Dean and Heather tore into each other again. "Heat has a really comfortable shoulder, too, and I'm sure she'd let you nap on it on the way home."

Maureen tossed her keys to her older sister in defeat and slid into the center row of seats. Heather courteously waited for the brothers to cram themselves into the backseat again before getting in herself, and Sam tossed her a tight smile of thanks.

Even with the van's heater giving its best effort at puffing warmth at its passengers, the snow clawing at the windows prevented anyone from thawing comfortably. Heather contented herself with watching the snowflakes slide down the glass in slow-motion races, creating fascinating shadow patterns on her jean-covered thigh.

Slowly her eyes lost focus and stared blankly ahead as she delved into her own thoughts. Thoughts that unfortunately rounded back to the achingly obvious strain between her and Dean since he'd waltzed back into her life twice in two days.

She should want to be detached, aloof, professional. But either she was too tired for that kind of reasonability or her nerves just _wanted_ to be grated, because she couldn't ease the flow of verbal jabs and scathing comments from her lips. Much less the vicious thoughts knocking at her brain with every glance at him.

She couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with herself, not yet. Feeling cheated and lied to certainly didn't help. But maybe that was the point.

Whatever was going on, it just felt wrong.


	5. Chapter 4

_Flashback_

 _April, 1985_

 _Newly five-year-old Heather sprinted across the apartment as soon as the kitchen timer dinged, yellow hair falling out of her ponytail with every bouncy step. She skidded to a stop at the sight of Nancy Beaumont lifting a tray of golden cookies out of the oven and took a deep sniff._

" _Can we eat them now, Mama?"_

" _You know the answer to that, silly!" Her mother laughed and tossed the oven mitts back in a drawer. "And didn't you just finish off the last of your birthday cake a little while ago?"_

 _Heather nodded sheepishly, then glanced at the door as another thought occurred to her. "Is daddy here yet?"_

" _Oh, honey," her mother turned toward the sink to better hide an exasperated sigh and grim pout, "I know your daddy said he'd be here this morning. We'll just have to save him some supper, alright?"_

 _Naïve young Heather accepted the answer and ran back to her room to continue the enthralling puppet show with Horsey and Puppy._

 _She hadn't noticed a year ago when her mother stopped wearing her wedding ring, and had no clue why she was left with Granny the day that her parents had a courthouse date. Nancy kept her ex-husband's last name for ease with raising Heather, as she was awarded sole custody with frequent visits allowed from Malcolm Beaumont. The man who, once the child had been born, became increasingly more distant and would sometimes disappear for weeks on end. And as Heather would grow into her elementary and teen years, it would become months or years between visits._

 _No, young Heather knew none of this. She never remembered Daddy living with them, and had questioned it more times than she could recall. She only knew she could be extra excited around her birthday and a slew of other holidays because her lumbering father would come around._

 _When she had exhausted her puppet acting, read her favorite picture book twice, and was about to try and build a block castle, there was a loud knock on the front door. Her bare feet came pat-patting across the tile floors as her mother opened the door and said, "Nice of you to finally show up, Malcolm. She was expecting you hours ago and –"_

" _Daddy!" Heather's squeal stopped her parents' inevitable argument and she wrapped herself around the towering man's knees._

" _Heather! How ya doing?" He lifted her into his arms and she was engulfed in his distinct scent of smoke mixed with mint. "Look how much you've grown!"_

 _She giggled and pointed to the coffee table in the adjacent room. "Daddy look! My friend Thomas from school gave me a big animal puzzle for my birthday and I already put it together."_

" _That's my clever girl! And I bet you're wondering what I brought you, too."_

 _And for a few hours, Heather had as much of a standard family life as she was gonna get. A new doll and too many cookies later, her father walked back out of their front door with promises to return soon, and Heather was only just beginning to realize how empty those words could be._

 _End Flashback_

Radio stations had hardly any good music selections during typical weekday work hours, so Heather was having to make do with Glen Campbell crooning to her from the alarm clock between the beds. Normally she'd have the TV on while she worked, but the motel's satellite dish was dinged up so bad that the screen couldn't show more than faint figures behind the constant wall of static.

Heather hummed a few lines to herself as another useless news article barely registered behind her eyes. She and Erica had moved Maureen back to the motel in Lebanon with them for the remainder of the demon hunt. Currently the sisters were out and about in town, familiarizing themselves with the area and doing some last-ditch canvassing for any signs of the witches they'd lost a few nights before.

The Winchester brothers were staying elsewhere in town, some place they inherited from a relative, according to Sam. "Sketchy? Sure. Oh well." had been Erica's only comment.

Heather had been left alone in the motel room to do some broader research on possible witch-demon collaborations in surrounding areas. And restlessness had never been a good color on her.

"You guys are gonna die one of these days." she deadpanned to the distracting video of naïve 'ghost trackers' with their nightvision camera.

For a break, Heather grabbed a banana from the counter and paced the dark floors enough to carve a canoe. The yellow glow from the motel lamps was a sad demotion from the real sunlight that could be found outside, peeking here and there from the dull clouds that threatened an icy rain soon.

The sharp rapping on the door was no less alarming than a bolt of lightning hitting too close. Heather had been scrounging in her duffel for a ponytail holder, but immediately snapped to attention, forgetting her messy hair in lieu of clutching her handgun close to her thigh.

She leaned against the door, feeling crusty paint chips fall down to decorate her sweatshirt, and glanced through the peephole. Immediately, she tucked the gun in the back of her leggings as bewilderment and slight unease filtered through her chest. Her fingers fumbled with the locks and then she tore the door open for the man standing there.

He was a few inches taller than she, with thinning dark hair and even thinner lips. His angular nose was only rivaled by the sharp square jawline. His skin was fairly doused with sun spots and had lines of wrinkles mapping paths to and fro.

In fact, the only feature she ever had in common with him were the bright hazel eyes.

"Dad? What the fuck are you doing here?"

The wintry wind blowing in from behind Malcolm Beaumont did nothing to muffle his scoff. "I'd expect nothing less from my own daughter. I'm here to see you, Heather."

"Um – I, uh, I can see that. Let's get this door closed, alright? Come on in." With the door shut behind them, she gestured for him to sit at the desk pulled out from the wall that was now serving as a combination food-and-research table. She quickly closed and moved the laptop, hoping he hadn't yet seen any suspicious key words on the screen.

By age eleven, Heather had refused to be that girl with daddy issues. A solid relationship with her mother, combined with a few school counselling sessions, enabled her to stop thinking about him and his absence altogether. And she'd functioned so well for so long with zero brainpower going toward him that now it was reeling as he sat a few feet away.

"So, you're here to see me? I'm sure you'll understand if I'm a bit confused." She studied his slouched posture, as relaxed as if he were reclining on a beach. A radical contrast to the guarded aura she was fighting to hide.

"You were at that charity event last weekend, right? I managed to recognize you but you slipped away in the commotion before I could pursue."

"Are you telling me," she took a breath, wanting to avoid sounding like a bratty teenager, "that you meticulously followed my friend and I around for days?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I still remember what my car looks like, Heather. It's a goddamn corvette. I saw it around town yesterday and finally tailed it here."

Heather's shoulder was starting to fall asleep from leaning on the wall, so she moved to the sink and took a swig from the open water cup there. There was a slight burning aftertaste, a scratching reminder of the previous night's whiskey in that same cup.

"Can I get you something to drink, Dad? Cause then we should probably do some real catching up."

"Your strongest, barkeep."

A rough laugh bounced its way out of Heather's mouth, an attempt at keeping herself levelheaded. She grabbed a can of beer from the mini-fridge in the corner and set it in front of Malcolm before turning to rummage through the cabinets for any snacks.

While her back was still turned, she heard a slight hissing sound, and Malcolm's voice followed the scent of burning flesh.

"Hm, that's a tingly sting. Clever girl."

Someone may as well have yanked a belt around Heather's neck for all she could breathe.

When Erica and Maureen had called to touch base with their mother about the case, she'd given them her insight for dealing with demons. One piece of advice included sprinkling everything they owned with holy water – clothes and food and door handles and toothbrushes and yes, even the beers in the fridge. It was a precaution to protect them from any passersby or visitors or hell, even each other that could turn out to be demons.

Or, you know, a long lost father who had followed them for days. And even the dried residue from holy water – to something that filthily unholy – was enough for a slight burn.

She pivoted harshly back to face him, gun drawn despite knowing it probably wouldn't do much damage. Black eyes, deep and dark as the pits scratching themselves into her heart and mind and gut, eyes that now watched her with a sickeningly lazy grin.

"Don't. Move." Heather had always been good at steeling her voice and making it seem gads stronger than she felt. You'd be surprised how many lawyer skills she'd been able to carry over.

Her aim was locked on Malcolm's forehead, and it was only when she began reciting the exorcism that he intervened.

With a surprisingly gentle flick of his wrist, he sent her gun clattering to the floor. "Look, Heather, I just wanna talk. I'm your father, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Like hell you are! Get out of him. Now!"

"Well, you see, I've actually been in this body, or vessel or meatsuit or whatever floats your boat, for over thirty years." He stood slowly under Heather's angry glare and leaned against the far wall. "And if you'll do that math…"

She did not want to do that math. Or any thinking at the moment. She just wanted to kill this vile thing in front of her and forget it ever happened. But of course, her mind was already running the calculations and made her grasp the edge of the counter so hard it left red dents in her tanned palms.

"You're…it's _you_ I've been dealing with as my father for all these years?"

"Yep! Now don't worry, your mother didn't romp in the sack with a demon. Good ole Nancy's nether-regions are still in good graces." He paused for what seemed like dramatic effect, and made Heather want to retch into the sink. "I possessed Malcolm here a few weeks before you were born. So yeah, I've been like this your whole lifespan."

There wasn't a synonym for reeling that was strong enough to describe the chaos circling inside Heather. Clips of memories were racing past her vision, spots where her father had seemed distant or uninvolved and then times when he was nice to be around. And it made…sense? Or at least now she didn't have to believe that her real father was such a wishy-washy dickbag. No, it was just the demon riding him for as long as she'd been alive. No big deal.

"So what the fuck am I supposed to do with this information, da– Malcolm? Or is that even your real name?"

Malcolm flashed a wide grin and clapped his hands together. "See, that's the thing! My name, my real demon name, is actually Malcolm. I'd swear it on the Bible but I'm sure you'll understand if I'd rather not. I was just so proud of myself that I found a susceptible guy with my same name! It was all the rage back then."

"When you possessed the man that could've been a great father for me!" Heather tried to massage away the headache starting to dully thump at her temples. She needed to stay as calm and alert as possible, because after all she was still alone with a demon in that motel room.

Malcolm nodded in what seemed like an attempt at sympathy. "Yes, there is that. And I'm sure unadorned human-Malcolm would've done well for your little family. But I will remind you, Heather, that it was me every time 'daddy' walked through that front door. We had a good relationship –"

"Until you dropped off the face of the earth –"

"– and you did think of me as your real father for your whole life up until about ten minutes ago. And I believe that you really did care about me. Which makes it worthwhile for me to come here."

Heather was still wincing from the thought of ever having even a semblance of a good relationship with a real live demon, and willing herself to forget the vaguely hopeful feeling that had surged through her when she saw him through the peephole. So she spat, "And why did you come? How long have you been looking for me?"

"Couple months now, kiddo. First I tried reaching out to your mother, who was more helpful than I thought she'd be. And can I congratulate you for your extensive education? Made me kinda proud to have to call Berkeley's alumni office." Malcolm scratched his elbow, evidently trying to keep a long train of thoughts in place. Before he could continue, Heather butted in.

"So then I'm sure my being a hunter was a fun fact to find." Her arms were folded tightly and she paced the short width of the kitchen rug, a cat trying to make herself seem bigger and more threatening than she actually was.

He laughed, a rasping sound that grated on her ears. Apparently even demons could find humor. "Boy, was it! Once I found out, I knew it'd be a little riskier to come and find you. But seriously, is that not ironically hilarious? Of course the biological daughter of the dumbass I possessed would become a hunter!"

"It's a bit less entertaining from my point of view."

Heather detested the silence that Malcolm let descend onto them, still not answering the question of _why_ he'd shown up. The water dripping from the sink was calling to her, and somehow she found the courage to turn her back to him and splash her face with the frigid liquid. But it didn't really help to clear her mind. She was still being ripped between the shock that her father was a goddamned demon, wanting to dismember that demon in a blind rage, but worst of all, the steadily growing contentment that the father who had been lost to her for so long simply appeared at her doorstep unannounced and had yet to try and kill her.

Somewhat redundant thoughts, but it was all there.

She dried her face off and blew her nose. And then whether it was indignant sass or the fact that her legs had wanted to give out from under her for quite awhile, she couldn't tell, but either way she found herself dropping into the chair across from that damned can of beer.

It only took a quirk of an eyebrow from Malcolm for her to shrug and say, "Figured I'd sit down if what you're here to tell me is so jarring that you've been stalling for this long."

"Alright, fair enough. You've earned a lack of sugar coating." He sat opposite her, hands folded properly in front of him. "This vessel here, the real biological part of me, is dying. It's a hell of a lot, if I do say so myself. Pancreatic cancer, an iffy heart condition, and I've probably worked this liver pretty hard over three decades."

And just like that, her father was slipping away again. She had studied up on demons enough in the past few days to know that the physical vessel is separate from the demon inside. But apparently the demon isn't totally unaware of what's going on in the body. And so her father, the biological form of the man she'd lost and found, was soon to be lost again. And a friggin' demon was there to tell her about it.

Malcolm continued in her silence. "And there is a reason I'm here to tell you about the impending decay of a body you're adamant that you haven't cared about in years. I'm here to give both of us a chance to patch up before I leave this vessel. Cause I've been told that a dead one is a lot more work to commandeer and maintain."

A few stray tears had already meandered down Heather's cheeks, and she harshly blinked back any new ones from forming. As an adult, she always ensured that none of her emotional problems stemmed from the absent father, but what she hadn't accounted for was that daddy issues can stand alone as their own burden.

But even just a few years' hunting experience taught her the value of a quick and fiery response. "So what could you possibly mean by a demon and his hunter daughter 'patching up', hm? How's that supposed to work?"

"Phone calls? Brunches? A few heart-to-hearts? All the normal ways to reacquaint yourself with someone."

"And this isn't you just going off your rocker and randomly deciding to come kill me?" Heather forced her guard back between them, just enough to let him see that she was still somewhat suspicious. "You want to rebuild our relationship before you disappeared again, just out of the goodness of your heart?"

Malcolm briefly flashed his eyes black again. "The word of a demon isn't much, but you have mine."

She elected to not grill him about the other demons around looking for Abbadon. Not only did she not want to risk alerting them to the fact that she and Erica and the Winchesters were onto the demons and their plans, but maybe she didn't want to believe that he ran with those bastards.

One last normal chance with dad didn't seem so bad.

"So here's what I'm gonna do, Heather." He scribbled on a scrap of paper and slid it over to her. "Here's my cell number. I'm leaving this in your court. You call if you want to, otherwise I'll have slipped back into the oblivion from whence I slithered out."

With a lazy smile and curt nod, he was out the door and gone.

The TV screen was still covered with static, and there was some awful old country music that felt free to start playing from the radio again. Now that the demon presence was gone.

And Heather was left with a dilemma that was almost more terrifying than a demon traipsing into the motel – what was she gonna tell the Winchesters, much less Erica? They'd end him before she was done with the tale.

And so she resolved to not tell them. It was her family life, her dying father, her decision to deal with.

* * *

"I'm really not in the mood for that right now, Sammy."

"So you're the hungry one, but you get to be so picky about what we get on the way home?"

Heather could hear the Winchesters bickering as soon as they exited the impala in the motel parking lot. Maureen tugged the door open for the two men, a handful of leaves blowing in with them along with two irritated sighs.

"So, any good news to share? Should we get a room service champagne?" Dean dropped easily onto the couch and looked expectantly at Erica.

She only acknowledged his humor with a dry huff. "Maureen and I have no leads on where those two witches from the other night are off to. And only one –"

"This one batshit crazy lady was our only witness for anything." Maureen leapt into the conversation. "She kept rambling on and on and only at the end of our conversation did she remember the smell of sulfur a few places around town."

Heather was quiet at her corner of the desk. Maureen was fascinating to watch when she got worked up, and the ex-lawyer couldn't help but wonder if that sulfuric scent came from the demon of her own flesh and blood. But she quickly shifted her focus to observing the brothers in front of her. Dean had had only glanced her way once since sauntering through the door; there had been zero change in his blank facial expression and then their locked eyes were separated.

Sam was now regaling the Lacour sisters with his and Dean's research adventures, which were only slightly more lucrative than their own. Dean had called hunter friends nationwide while Sam consulted ancient lore books, and they could only find a few isolated instances of demons hiring witches.

"Heat found about the same." Erica injected Heather back into the conversation and shot her a questioning glance about her silence.

"Yeah, Google wasn't much of a help." Heather agreed, brushing hair out of her eyes and tapping her laptop. "People can believe in witches and we all know someone who is such a dick they're probably a demon, but working together? It's written off as raving conspiracy theory."

The heater shut off and Erica fruitlessly tried to kick it back to life. "That's what I'd think, if I hadn't heard that warehouse interaction with my own ears."

Sam brushed past the brunette to tinker with the air unit and shot her a smile as warm as the air flow when it kicked back on. Erica nodded her thanks, and then their moment was gone. Fleeting warmth as opposed to Heather's own fleeting iciness with Dean. They had their own damn soap opera.

"Y'know, square one has got to be my least favorite places." Dean muttered. "You'd think with too many people working on the same case we could actually get real work done."

Maureen was familiarly indignant, and interjected before Heather even had the chance to give her own retaliation. "Real work? I think we've gotten pretty far since I called the girls and you two followed. We even connected the cases we were all separately working on!"

"She's right, the witches we were chasing were presumably stealing years of life as a side business while fishing for information." Sam's voice of reason was a fair attempt at diffusing the tense nerves at the end of the day. "And right now we don't have any other leads except that they're looking for Abbadon. So all we can do for now…"

There was a dull droning from construction being done across the street that turned out to be much more fascinating for Heather to listen to, as opposed to iffy case plans and trying to ignore Dean's continued condescension toward she and Maureen's hunting experience.

Her wandering thoughts led her to visualize the piece of paper currently crunched in her right pocket and suddenly she felt as though it was threatening to burn a hole through her jeans and let everyone know that she had a demon dad encounter. But she'd cleaned the motel room fastidiously for traces of sulfur and anything else pointing to Malcolm's visit, so nobody had a clue.

A jab from a leather-covered elbow dragged Heather's thoughts back to the room as Dean pushed past her on his way out the door. It didn't totally shut, leaving her a view of him rifling through the trunk of the impala. On impulse – a childish, retaliatory impulse – she asked Sam to take a closer look at their heater to make sure it wouldn't give out overnight. Then snowflakes were tangling in her hair as she followed the other Winchester outside, snapping the door shut and matching his smooth stare.

When surrounded by ancient Accords and rusted Pontiacs, the corvette and impala made a handsome pair in the motel's dingy parking lot. If only the same could be said for the two people now having a side-to-side standoff behind them.

Heather mirrored Dean's wide, strong stance as she too began to dig through her roomy trunk. The second compartment was propped open and the armory on display was only slightly more organized than the boys'. After shaking the couple jugs of holy water, she noticed that Dean was checking the sights on his pistol, so she pulled out Erica's favorite shotgun and did the same.

It didn't take long for the whole ordeal to evolve into a passive-aggressive competition of pulling out the most weapons. With the frigid metal of the corvette's bumper pressing into the denim over her knees, Heather began handling each gun and knife with more fervor than the last. Her blood was pumping its fastest to her fingers and she grit her teeth as she became angrier and angrier.

She was so tired of Dean rudely and blatantly underestimating her hunting skills, and there was still the underlying anger that he hadn't bothered to be in her life for so long that he didn't see her progression into a professional hunter.

But Heather's eyebrows furrowed as she realized maybe anger wasn't the right word. No, what she was feeling felt a little more sad and rested a little lower in her gut. And she'd encountered it earlier that day.

It was a dismal pain, and it was tinged with some of the same ache from both Dean and her father being gone so long out of her life. Which was not something she wanted to deal with. Anything more negative than anger would distract her from the case and be more detrimental to the work environment.

As if on cue, she swung the last pump-action out too hard and knocked it into the bumper. The sharp _clang_ of metal on metal snapped her head up and it was hard to miss the way Dean shoved his machete back in the trunk and roughly closed it.

"The hell are you doing, Heather?" He crossed his arms ironclad against his chest. "You could hurt the car."

Heather scoffed, plain anger resurfacing. "Thanks for the concern, but I could say the same for you."

"Baby's made it through a lot. She'll be fine." Dean patted the impala and took a few steps toward Heather, swinging a wide gesture at the corvette. "I'm more worried about this pretty vehicle you couldn't have been driving for very long. Where'd you get it, anyway? Company present that you just kept when you went MIA on them?"

Alright, she could play dirty, too. Even if it made her cringe to think about it. "Think you're the only one with daddy's nice old car, Dean? Plus, law firms don't give out antiques."

"What is it, a '78? '79?"

"1980 Chevrolet Corvette." She deadpanned, finally turning to fully face him and tugging her jacket closer over her frame. "My father came home with it a few weeks before I was born. Mom was unimpressed, to say the least." And now that knowledge made more sense than it had in thirty years. Demons apparently have expensive tastes.

His lips parted to huff out billowing warm air and he stepped the closest he'd been since that night at the auction. Whiskey and frosted mint floated over to her, which years ago would've made her heavy-lidded and ready for a liplock. Now it just quickened all the wrong bitter nostalgic synapses.

She added sickeningly artificial sweetness to her voice and said, "Would you like me to show you the full arsenal we carry so you can stop worrying so much for the next leg of this hunt?"

In other words, screw you 'cause I'm plenty capable.

"You know, I was just thinking how the trunk space would be great for all of Erica's hunting gear." His fake smile was nauseating.

It was exhausting to balance seething resentment with sassy retorts but so be it. He sure as hell wasn't gonna let this drop, and neither was she. The air was crackling and it wasn't just leaves blowing around.

"Three full years E and I have been doing this together." Heather tore her gun from its resting spot on her hip and took out the magazine before shoving it at Dean barrel-first. "Got a damn fine forty-five if I say so myself. And I know how and when to use every single item back here. Erica's taught me all she knows and I'm a competent learner."

Dean waved awkwardly at an older gentleman walking past them, then narrowed his eyes at the blonde. But Heather didn't let him get whatever quip off his tongue before she got her last words in.

"Therefore, amateur is not the right descriptor, buddy."

Dean had never taken defeat well, and was particularly miffed at this moment. His green eyes rolled skyward as he tossed the handgun back in the corvette's trunk. "Alright, so maybe I just had yet to see some real hunting so far." The attempt at covering his ass was a quick and effective save.

"So helping to kill an alpha Rougarou came without merit, fantastic." She shot back. "But look, you know what, I'll just settle for a little less condescension about my time in the life. I mean, you're the one with some mysteriously cushy and permanent place to stay right here in Lebanon. What kind of 'real hunting' is that anyway?"

The Winchester had crunched a few paces in the snow back toward the impala, the usual expanse between them properly reinstituted. That wall of separation had quickly become a comfortable norm for the two of them, and Heather would be the first to admit that it was much easier to launch angry attacks at the safer distance. The closer he got, the more it would turn into that dangerous sad ache.

"Well, that's why the witchy charity hunt seemed like such a convenient idea. And it was, right up until the likes of you strutted back in and cracked my brother in the face."

"The likes of me?" It was her turn to sarcastically laugh. "Who left in the first place and made it possible for me to walk _back_ in?"

Sam opened the motel room door in time to see regret swirl across Heather's clenched eyes and color her neck and cheeks with embarrassment. She had in no way intended to voice those types of thoughts anytime soon, and the poorly-masked bitterness resting on Dean's face was just another reminder of why.

But Heather had always been good about quick recoveries, so she called out to Sam, "How's the heater looking?"

His suspicious gaze was understandable, but he nodded good-naturedly with a gesture at the warm indoors. "Yeah, should be good to keep the three of y'all warm for awhile."

"C'mon, Sammy. I'm gonna eat all your dumb protein bars if we don't hit a burger joint in the next fifteen." Dean slammed the driver's door shut and Heather breathed a shaky sigh.

Sam gave another small smile and wave toward the motel room, presumably at Erica, and Heather could only imagine the brunette's facial expression. Then the impala was sliding down the road across the fresh coat of sleety snow.

There was indeed a blast of warm air waiting to thaw Heather's extremities when she got back inside. Maureen was propped up on the couch crunching on some chips, and Erica only offered half a glance up from the laptop.

"Look, I didn't mean for –"

"Wasn't gonna ask." Erica sharply cut off Heather's explanation. "As long as we can still get work done, the rest is up to you."

The blonde nodded her quick thanks and toed off her boots before collapsing onto the creaking bed. After no leads and two too many people she was truly ready to deal with that day, she could only laugh gratefully when Maureen piped up with, "How's take out sound to you guys?"


	6. Chapter 5

Just when Erica thought she had earned the right to sleep in, if only for this one Saturday, her phone flared up with her recently updated ringtone of Baywatch's theme song. She heard Maureen let out some profanities as her slumber was also disturbed. Erica searched with fuzzy senses under her pillow for where the cell must have fallen during the night.

When her clammy hand finally closed over the ringing device, it cut off. With a swipe of her hand, she moved the tangled bird's nest she considered hair out of her vision. Sam's name blinked on the screen as a missed call.

Erica signed, resigned herself to another full day on hunting duty, and rolled into a crouch on the floor. Maureen took the opportunity to fan herself across the shared bed. The elder sister picked up two pairs of jeans draped over the couch and squinted to distinguish hers from Heather's. She shrugged on a cardigan over her tank and jammed her feet inside a mismatched pair of slippers.

Once mostly dressed, she hit redial and took the call just outside the motel door. Freezing winter morning mist bit through her layers instantly. But that wasn't what caused the shiver to set into the base of her spine.

A pair of hazel eyes alert despite the early hour shined down at her.

Numbly she hung up the phone and crossed her arms over her chest to address the younger Winchester who appeared on her doorstep.

"Tried to call and warn you," Sam offered for explanation.

Erica shrugged and nodded simultaneously before letting her head roll to the side. He was like a soft rain beating against the careful boarding around her heart. If she let him remain long enough, she knew he would seep through the minute cracks. He would become a part of her life once again. Could she handle that?

More importantly, could she stand to lose him again once this was all over?

"So I think I found something that links our witch hunt to those demons we stumbled across. We know that they're searching for Abbadon's body parts. What we didn't know was why the witches would help them. I found this old text. It's in Greek and a couple centuries old, but from what I can decipher it's a pact between the witches of the day and guess who?"

"Our favorite demon," Erica dead-panned. "Mind if I take a look at it? Translations can be tricky. Two pairs of eyes are always for the best. Where'd you get your hands on something like that anyway?"

Sam smiled sheepishly and passed a hand through his floppy brown hair. The wind kicked up a trail of leftover snow from the previous day so that it tickled Erica's jaw. The overhanging awning blocked out the majority of the still rising sun. Erica would religiously bring her coffee outside in the winters to absorb the first warmth of the day, but this morning, she felt perfectly contented allowing Sam to serve in its place.

Even when he was shy, his honesty and openness brought a familiar warmth into her core. What had once been a burning flame of a romance had fizzled to embers when she thought him dead. She'd even attempted to snuff out the remains by suffocating it with hunting. But here Sam was, gently prodding it back to life.

"I'll take you to the bunker. I didn't feel comfortable bringing that document out in the open," Sam motioned to the impala and Erica found herself traipsing towards the driver's door out of habit.

"Don't think Dean is quite ready to let you drive her yet, E." Sam laughed and grabbed her upper arms to stop her progress.

In the sudden motion, her back bumped against his chest. She heard his breath snag as if a gust of December air had carried it away. Erica was reluctant to pull away, but desperately needed to see his reaction. He must feel it too. The connection was never severed between them, just buried.

As she turned towards the plaid clad Winchester, however, he ducked into the driver's seat himself. With a sad sigh, Erica sent a quick explanation text to Heather and Maureen and buckled herself into a car that bore more memories than she cared to admit.

For the most part, the potential tension of the car ride was spared by a phone call from a professor Sam had been communicating with. In fact, Sam was still jabbering away when he pulled the car into a tucked away garage and cut the engine. Erica let herself out and hesitated only a moment before her feet surged forward to inspect the vast space of the garage. If this was the place used for housing cars, what must the rest of this mysterious bunker entail?

Cars in every color of the rainbow lined the walls and motorcycles dating back decades adorned the parallel wall.

"You weren't kidding when you said bunker? What's this thing designed to withstand? Nuclear warfare?" Erica tapped the dense stone encompassing the room. Above, she could see the metal door from which they'd entered. Outside it was daylight by now, but the door was to compactly built that not even a sliver could sneak its way inside.

"No demon zone. No anything zone, really. We inherited it from the Men of Letters." Sam replied.

He set a hand to the small of her back to guide her up three steep steps into what appeared to be a utility room. A dryer hummed away in the corner and a wrinkled paisley shirt laid stretched out over an ironing board. A pile of unmatched socks blocked the only pathway out of the room.

With an irritated kick, Sam sent them tumbling behind the door as he wrenched it open. "My brother seems to be going on a strike against matching footwear."

Erica trailed after him down a few empty corridors. The walls were lit with old oil burning lanterns and the carpet beneath her feet looked like it had survived more monster attacks than the Winchester boys combined. Their footsteps echoed down the hallow halls and made Erica wonder how many people used to occupy this space. Her knowledge of the Men of Letters was limited, but she knew they had been wiped off the map in the 50s.

"Must get lonely here with just the two of you," she noted.

Sam worked his jaw from left to right before replying with, "Yeah."

The next room they entered knocked Erica back on her feet a few steps. Wide tables scattered with ancient lore and authentic Men of Letters' journals took up the middle while bookshelves overflowing with texts lines the outskirts. Her eyes flitted over the titles, marveling at the ones written in languages she couldn't even identify.

"Ok, so here's what I was telling you about." Sam indicated an open scroll with his pointer finger. His free hand gripped at the table as if he could squeeze the answers out of it.

"Some of the words are smeared," Erica murmured, not daring to touch the fragile words.

"I know. That's why I'm struggling so much. This here, δαίμονας could mean demon, but it could also just be a name."

"No, look here. That smudge is deliberate. They wanted us to look at it because it was significant, not because it was proper. It's definitely demons, plural. Meaning the shit we just walked into now comes with a time stamp from before Christ himself."

Erica glanced up as she finished her observations. Heavy lidded eyes were trained on her. Almost as if her words had their own magical qualities that had lured him into a trance. She let a smile turn up her lips.

"Feels like old times, huh?"

He looked away immediately with sorrow and guilt shutting his eyes tight. "I need to tell you something."

"Is it about the demon blood? Or Lucifer? Because I know, Sam." Erica drummed her fingers against her thighs. In all the months post Winchester "death," she'd had time to come to terms with all things involving the apocalypse. Forgiving a corpse was easy.

Forgiving Sam, the man in front of her so clearly hurting, proved much simpler.

"You can't know everything. E, I did awful, _awful_ things."

"I don't need to know," she declared firmly. Then softer, "I just need you."

A shuffle came from an adjoining hallway and Dean appeared clothed in nothing but boxer shorts. His damp hair stuck up at gravity defying angles and shower residue still clung to his tan torso. He whipped his head to gawk at the tender moment being exchanged between Sam and Erica and managed to stub his toe against a jutting out bookcase.

With a curse, he hobbled over to sit in one of the straight backed wooden chairs at their table. "Didn't know we were having a meeting this morning. Where's the lawyer?"

Erica shut down all emotions, turning her attention to the scroll before her.

"Tell you what, Dean. Why don't you and her go scope around the town one more time?" Sam spoke.

"Because we've done that at least half a dozen times and I don't need Heather's bitter ass rubbing off on baby," Dean quipped.

"I'll go with her," Erica offered, turning towards the door she'd come through.

Then Sam's hand was unbearably gentle on her own. She couldn't see him, but she didn't need to. That touch was enough. It stirred up the old need to pull away from attachment. To make sure she didn't tie herself down.

"Please." Sam's voice fumbled over the word. "Stay." Here his voice didn't waver. It was as solid as the concrete walls around them. Nothing could possibly tear him down. This man had been possessed by Lucifer himself and still found a place in his heart to offer up.

Erica didn't know if he meant for now, or the night, or forever, but she nodded. When she turned again, Dean was gone. Apparently he wasn't totally oblivious. There were no sappy, heartfelt confessions exchanged. They merely fell back into an old rhythm as effortless as lighting up a Rougarou.

Those had been the simple days.

By the time the grungy engine of the impala could be heard rolling into the garage of the bunker, Erica had consumed two pots of coffee and half a box of poptarts. Sam's left eye was beginning to twitch slightly from staring at the same plot of space for too long. Both sets of boots were discarded in a corner with Erica's taller ones leaning ever so slightly against Sam's sturdy brown chukkas.

The clock on the wall read well past midnight, but Erica refused to believe so many hours had passes and they had next to nothing to show for themselves. Her blue jacket was draped over her head acting like a makeshift blinder so she could focus on her work and. Still, her eyes kept wandering to the brunette hunched over his own scribblings across from her.

As the sounds of two squabbling children split the concentration, Sam slid his notebook into Erica's hands. Beside the notes she'd made earlier, he had written a few of his own, crossed them through, and then put a big question mark over everything.

Erica let out an exasperated laugh just as Heather marched into the room.

"Sorry we took nearly a week to go over things we'd already seen. This one led us on a wild goose chase," Heather declared.

"The sign clearly said free burgers. How could I be expected to read the fine print from a highway going 70?" Dean defended.

"The Thanksgiving décor might have given away the fact that the advertisement was old," Heather fired back.

"Hey, I paid for both of us. Yours was still technically free from your point of view. Be thankful."

"Excuse me if I'm not."

Heather plopped herself down on the corner of Erica's chair and rested her chin on her friend's should. Her hazel gaze skirted the mingled sloppy handwritings. She tilted her head so that a scent of cold air brushed Erica's nose. It was a nice relief from the heat inside. Though, she doubted the warmth just below her stomach was from any heater.

"God, borrowers scare the shit out of me. Give me a student or a natural any day." Heather tapped her purple fingernails against three of the bullet points down the page.

Erica, who was sipping at her now cold coffee, choked and let some dribble down her chin. "Fuck me, really?"

"Who am I fucking?" Dean input.

"Yourself," Heather replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

"Sam these are types of witches, not actions. The borrowers, who get their magic directly from demons. The students who rely on spell books and studying the material, and the naturals who are just born gifted. Shit, we've been reading this all backwards. See here? A mortal didn't borrow from Abbadon. They became a borrower. She made a deal with them and gave them powers. And these were not literal school students, but humans who trained in the dark arts. And…"

"Gross," Sam finished.

Erica winced in agreement as they both realized what happened with the last one.

"What?" Dean leaned over Heather's shoulder and she swatted him away.

"Don't screw a demon otherwise your children pop out with bat shit crazy powers," Erica explained.

"You'd better watch out for Sam, then E," Dean joked.

Erica stood up abruptly, pulling her jacket to tie around her waist. "I'm going grab a beer. Or a pack," she added with a mumble as she walked back towards the kitchen. The coffee pot still simmered away with the last sip of coffee sitting at the bottom. A pile of clean dishes sat on a towel draped across the counter waiting to be put away.

"God, Dean. Could you be more insensitive?" Heather's voice echoed after her followed by whatever irritated retort Dean offered.

As she rummaged around in the fridge, she heard heavy footsteps come up behind her. "We're off our game, Sam. I know it's been a while for me since I dealt with witches. Borrowers are just so rare I forget there's a different method for disposing of them. The other two types just kind of blend together for me. Gank them and burn the hoodoo shit."

When she turned, the beer bottles slipped from her hands. Neither of the Winchester stood before, but another man entirely. A tangled mess of black hair stood out against luminous blue eyes. A sloppily tied trench coat hung off this man's frame and his tie was on inside out.

He looked normal enough, but her hunter senses warned her otherwise. Erica snatched at the blade tucked within her high sock.

"Please don't," the man sighed almost wearily.

Erica knew she was fast but she also knew the man let her press the blade to his throat. "Who are you and how did you get in here?" she demanded. He was not afraid. And that terrified her.

"My name is Castiel. I sensed turmoil and came to see if the Winchesters were in need of assistance."

"As great of an explanation as that is, I'm gonna need a little more if you don't want me to sever your spinal cord," Erica threatened.

"I am an angel of the Lord," he stated.

Her dark brown eyes flashed and she took satisfaction in the genuine surprise that ghosted across the ethereal being's face. "You and your sick bastard brothers put Sam in the pit," she seethed.

"I'm the one who got him out. I raised Dean from perdition as well."

"You could've left the latter there," Heather's voice interrupted them. She strolled casually to the fridge and plucked three more beers from within. "Want one, angel boy?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes to a squint at Heather and didn't move to accept the beer. He stepped forward so that Erica's knife left a thin trail of red across his jugular to get a better look at the blonde. She didn't back away out of fear, merely observed him in curiosity.

"Guess I need an angel notebook now, huh?"

"You are the source of the turmoil I sensed," Castiel accused.

"Not my fault Dean can't control his temper." Heather clicked her tongue.

"Cas, thought you were doing penance or something," Dean's voice came from the doorway where the brothers now stood. Their shoulders were so broad and their frames so tall, only miniscule streams of light from the hallway found its way through.

Erica's head spun, trying to grasp everything as the remaining four kept talking. Angel. Friend. Something about Abbadon's body part and sigils. Witches. Demons. Everything blurred together until colors were one giant swirl of nothingness and sound was nothing but muted vibrations in her ear. Vaguely she felt pressure behind her knees and on her upper back, indicating someone catching her from a nasty fall.

When her vision finally cleared, she was no longer in the kitchen but a bare bedroom. Heather sat at the foot of the bed Erica was nestled on with distant concern on her features. Erica groaned as a headache pounded away like a war march on her brain.

Beneath her, a metal bed creaked as she shifted her weight. A patchy quilt served as a comforter and crinkled as she sat up. The room smelled distinctly like old beer and fruity hair product, like Sam. There was, however, no personal items to mark the space as his own.

"Cas left. He was worried about you having a mental breakdown again," Heather informed. She sat forward, concern leaking through her careful façade. She wore it so often being a hunter, Erica could see the relief her friend felt when she could let it down. Heather was a naturally affectionate person. Even after hunting all these years, she'd failed to give in to the hard, hallow shell most people adopted.

"Of course they're casually friends with an immortal creature," Erica groaned, letting her head collapse against her raised knees.

Heather rubbed a hand down the brunette's back, nibbling at her lower lip. "Want the sparknotes version of what he told us?"

"Please."

"Your boys sliced and diced the main baddie, Abbadon. Cas hid the body parts with sigils which is fancy ass angel talk for magic. The demons we're after were a part of her little cult. The witches are bound by that contract you and Sam found to protect their mistress. So, bam, cooperation between those two."

Erica stared, brow knit into a thin line. "My boys?" she inquired. There was no amusement in her voice. It was pure ease.

Heather snapped her head, catching the slip of the tongue. "Whatever, you know what I meant."

"Do you?" Erica countered.

Her mouth opened and her teeth ground together, before Heather tugged at her shoulder length blonde locks and clambered to her feet.

"Why don't you even try and get along with them?" Erica pushed.

"Sam said you could stay in his room tonight. He's taking the guest. I'm going back to the motel to watch _your_ kid sister."

"You were a goddamn lawyer, Heat. You should be used to talking about difficult things. Why do you keep avoiding this?"

"Why do you keep pretending like nothing happened? Doesn't it hurt? Am I the only one whose heart went straight to hell with those boys?!" She spun hysterically on her heel to face the closed door. "No, what am I saying? You never feel anything. You shut down after Sam left. Hunting wasn't enough for you. I wasn't enough for you. But the second he walked back into your life, you forgive him. You fall right back in love with him. And Dean's your go to for hunting. How am I supposed to react? Yes I'm upset we were deceived about their deaths. No, I don't hold it against them. But in getting them back, I'm losing you."

"Heather, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not in love with Sam." Erica's head was beginning to swim again. She stood and fell back against the mattress.

"You get some rest, Lacour. You'll need it between the lies you're telling me and the ones you feed yourself."

The door opened and slammed shut so hard it rattled in its frame. This was supposed to be her off day she thought again fruitlessly. Heather was just being dramatic. Erica knew herself too well to fall prey to feeble white lies. As her head once again touched the pillow Sam's occupied each night, however, it dawned on her just how wrong she was.


	7. Chapter 6

Shower pellets rained down around Erica's seated position. Her hair slipped onto her face to cling along her nose and jaw. Her headache refused to go away. Her problems refused to be productive and mend themselves. She fingered the chipped maroon nail polish on her toes, thinking back to the spat she and Heather had shared. She glanced up at the watermelon scented shampoo sitting on the side of the tub and her thoughts went to Sam; her heart was quick to follow. Then, there was the logical path of attempting to battle a gang of witches and demons.

Raising herself up on shaky arms, Erica forced even breaths deep into her lungs and attempted to work the kinks out of her long hair. Dim light filtered in through the checkered shower curtain leaving symmetric patterns across her athletic legs.

As she cut off the steaming water, an idea occurred to her. Who did she always call with hunter problems? Who was the perfect medium between a friend and a parent? Her mentor—Jody Mills.

Before she even had her robe on, Erica had dug her cell out of the folds and hit the frequently dialed number. Without waiting even a full ring, the native South Dakotian answered. "Hey kiddo. I was beginning to wonder when I'd hear from you next. Haven't stumbled across Oz down there in Kansas have you?"

"Something like that," Erica said. She massaged at the little bridge above her nose and gave the strings of her borrowed robe a firm tug.

"Oh, god. I know that tone. Who am I dismembering?"

Erica laughed feebly. She kicked down the toilet lid and sat down with a wet thud. She played with a crack in the blue tinged tile as she sought out an answer. "So, um, you remember how we thought the Winchesters died?"

Silence.

Clearing her throat, Erica shifted to lean her elbows on her thighs so she could hunch over. "Or just me and Heather were caught in that delusion." She was too tired of revelations to let one more lie derail her.

"Bobby and I agreed that it was for the best. We didn't want you two getting mixed up with them again," Jody defended quickly.

"Yeah, well that really wasn't your place, and we managed to anyway."

"What?" Jody sounded as if she was choking on water, or more likely some sort of alcohol.

"That's problem one. Two is the case we're teaming up on. Maureen is here and I'm worried about her safety because stuff is piling up and angels and demons are now involved. I've never dealt with anything like this before, so I sure as hell don't want Mar around."

"E, you realize that you girls are more likely to kill the Winchesters than any monster, right?"

"I'm actually ok on that front. I think I still have feelings for…" She trailed off as a knock came on the bathroom door.

"Erica, are you done? I need my razor from in there," Sam's voice came through the door.

"Speak of the devil," Erica muttered to herself and flinched at the bad joke. "Thanks for listening, Sheriff. I should get going."

"Hold up, kiddo. I might have a way to fix at least one of those problems. What do you say I swing down and take Maureen off your hands."

"You're a saint, Jody," Erica said.

"Most Sundays," she agreed.

Erica hung up and hopped to her feet to unlatch the door. Sam squinted down at her from beneath the hood of his jacket. Red decorated his sleepy eyes and there was dried drool on the corner of his mouth. "Morning." He yawned loudly.

"Brush your teeth while you're in there," Erica instructed, slipping past him back into his bedroom where she'd spent the night.

"You're one to talk. Did you even use soap?" Sam retorted.

Erica spun around with laughter peeling off her lips. "Yes, but I don't enjoy smelling like a fairy princess unlike some fully grown men."

He shrugged and kicked at the loose ends of his sleep pants. A brown tuft of hair hung directly between his eyes, but he couldn't be bothered to remove his hands from his pockets to move it. He sniffed as his feet tiptoed forward.

"Listen," the joking nature was gone. A solemnity hung in his words now. "I just…" he glanced helplessly to the floor before meeting her gaze more intensely than at first. It was like a silent movie—a thousand words communicated with only the dramatic music of the background to set the mood. Only, it was the song Barracuda being blasted from Dean's room down the hall and Sam seemed intent to speak it out loud regardless. "I know the way I walked back into your life wasn't ideal, but I'm glad I did."

Erica found herself nodding. As if the nonchalant gesture could acknowledge everything that had transpired between them. She should say something or run to him or at least smile.

"I'm gonna go shave now. Heather has been getting on me and Dean about our stubble. You're welcome to any of my clothes if you don't want to wear what you had on yesterday again." He disappeared into the bathroom before Erica could formulate a proper response.

Erica donned her unwashed jeans and rolled the cuffs up her shins to at least make them appear new. Ethics dictated that she not give into her craving off being engulfed in one of Sam's larger than life plaids and make do with the tank top she wore beneath her sweater yesterday. Gathering up her dignity, Erica made her way into the apparently already occupied library.

Maureen jumped up from her reading so fast her headband fell to bounce against her chin. Hastily pushing it back into place, she grinned widely spun in a circle with her arms stretched wide. "This place is like the ultimate superhero lair. I can't believe the Winchesters were holding out on us."

"Get used to disappointments from them," Heather called without looking away from her laptop.

Ignoring the sour comment, Erica surveyed her baby sister. Her dark eyes were still so young and innocent. Erica wanted nothing more than to keep them that way. "Come outside with me?" Erica asked.

"It's freezing and your hair is still wet," Maureen pointed out.

Erica sighed and walked to the base of the exit stairs where a coat rack hung. Looks like she'd be resigning to wear Sam's clothing anyway. She pulled on a ratty hoodie over her hair and waved expectantly at her pouting sibling. They trudged up the stairs side by side and by the time the heavy bunker door closed in their wake, Erica was beginning to reconsider the hike into the outdoors. It was in fact below the freezing point and the sun was missing despite the mid-morning time.

"You're going to tell me it's too dangerous, aren't you? That's why you've kept me out of things lately," Maureen sent a spray of gravel skidding ahead with the toe of her combat boots.

"Well, I can never say you're ignorant. Just inexperienced. You get that, don't you?"

Maureen nodded and swatted at a snowflake clinging to her eyelash. "I guess. I'll call Garth and see if he can find something more basic for me to work on."

"Actually, you know my friend Jody?"

"Sure. You talk about her enough."

"I was thinking you could go stay with her a while. She'll find you some nearby hunts, but can also keep an eye on you. Just until we sort out this mess. Then you can roam the country as you want. I want to make things safe again first."

"Wouldn't want to interrupt Mom and Dad's retirement either," Maureen said. "You realize things will never really be safe though, right?"

Erica inclined her head down and gnawed at her raw lips. "I do, but if I can stop this one evil, it'll be one step closer."

Snow began pouring down harder. Maureen shrieked in surprise and threw up her head to welcome the frost. She jutted out her tongue childishly and gripped the ends of her knit dress. Snow clung to her printed tights and decorated the pastel blue sky above. Most people viewed snow as an inconvenience, something to wait out like hail or rain. But maybe snow was more like a blank slate for the seasons to start from. Its where the most beautiful flowers blossomed from, after all.

A clean beginning was something Erica craved. No more lies or deceit. She would cleanse every part of her life beginning with the most important aspect, her family. She was taking care of Maureen. Then, she would remedy her relationship with Heather and together they would work to do what they did best. Finally, maybe she'd have a moment to open up a spare part of herself to the owner of the jacket that kept her warm against even the harshest of winter winds.

Calling to Maureen, they headed back into the bunker, shucking snow off their shoes as they sealed the door behind them. At the table Heather worked at, Sam had drawn her out of her sulking and gestured animatedly with his hands about whatever fable he fed her. She rolled her eyes and tilted her head towards where Dean sat beside her as she responded. He held up his hands in defense making Heather reach for a beer before her.

As Maureen clomped her way down the metal staircase, Erica leaned against the top railing. There was an unshakable warmth in her chest as she folded the floppy ends of Sam's sleeves over her stomach. Maureen plopped herself on the table, entering the conversation without reserve. Dean pointed in victory and jumped to his feet.

Sam laughed and shook his head. With still beautifully crinkled eyes, he glanced up to where Erica observed. His head tilted in a request for her to join them. Yes, winter was proving to be her favorite time of year.

* * *

When Jody said she'd drive down to get Maureen, Erica did not anticipate her arrival only a few short hours later. Nor did she realize just how much she was in need of a hug from her longtime confidant. Jody turned to Maureen, placed her hands on her hips and popped out her hip with her gun on it. "We'll have to buff you up before hitting the road kid," she noted.

"That a standard issue 9mm?" Maureen countered, eyes latching curiously on the weapon.

Jody snorted with laughter and nodded in approval. "How about you go grab your stuff and I'll put you sister and her friend in place before heading out."

Heather and Erica stepped out onto the porch of the motel they occupied, shutting the door for privacy. After debating with the Winchesters for a few pointless hours, it was decided that after Maureen left, the elder women would move into the bunker for easier access to lore and their current partners. Once this case was over, however, and Heather stressed this point excessively, they would be on their way. She sounded like Erica Lacour five years prior—so caught up in her own agenda, refusing to allow room for the possibility of attachment. Of course, last time they'd permitted that she and Heather had ended up all manners of fucked up and over.

Though Erica was fully prepared to absorb a lecture on safety and hunting etiquette, Jody surprised them both by asking, "How are you guys holding up?"

A stray hawk mosquito buzzed lazily around Erica's hands in clear denial about the weather climate. What the clouds didn't blot out of the sun struggled through her three layers of clothing to offer any minute amount of warmth.

"That well?" Jody pressed when neither woman spoke up.

"Erica seems to be coping just fine," Heather snapped.

"Christ, not this again," Erica moaned.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are my feelings a burden to you? I know you're not accustomed to having any," Heather snapped.

"Should I have brought my psychiatrist couch or are you two going to stop fighting like teenage girls? Be mad at me or Bobby or either of the boys. Not each other. You're the only steady things in each other's lives. You can't afford to be at each other's throats; that leaves an opening for a demon to go for yours."

"Look, Heat, I'm sorry if what I've done comes across as me abandoning you. That's not how I intended it. I'm just trying to get this done right," Erica said.

"Does that involve mentally undressing Sam?" Maureen inquired as she maneuvered her two bulky suitcases between the three.

"Thanks for the backup, Mar," Heather nodded approvingly.

"Not your fight. Wait in the car," Jody instructed.

"Won't let me fight demons. Won't let me fight Erica. I've done that one for all 19 years of my life, though. I'm highly qualified for it," Maureen responded immaturely.

"I'll miss you." Erica pulled her into a hug, though the recipient could not reciprocate with her hands struggling to maintain a grip on her bags.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't go wimping out and die on me." Maureen brushed the affection off and began tossing her things into the popped trunk of her mini. Jody's squad car was parked right beside the van waiting to begin its caravan back north.

The Sheriff swung her keys about her middle finger, raising expectant eyebrows to Erica. "No heartfelt goodbye for me? We're practically family." Erica rolled her eyes but offered up her arms to embrace the ever concerned woman.

Heather pushed her way past to offer up her own farewell to the younger Lacour. A pair of squabbling boys raced past, the taller one holding an action figure just out of reach of the smaller. Jody laughed, dark eyes crinkling up at the scene. She pulled back and caught at the hem of Erica's jean jacket. Erica stared at the dark brown police jacket Jody wore. Those were days she often classified as boring and pointless. Staying centralized waiting around for a boy who was not coming back. But in truth she'd gained more than she lost. She'd gained a life-long friend in Jody, a hunting partner in Heather and a much needed source of stability behind that desk. She'd lived life on the road and she'd experienced a hunter's version of domestic life. One was not dominant to the other anymore. There had to be some sort of middle ground for her to stand on.

"Erica, Sam is a sweet boy. He really means well, but he and his brother have a habit of getting into shit that they can't dig themselves out of. Somehow they always end up alive. But not the people closest to them. Their mom, their dad, Bobby. I'm not blaming them; I'm just trying to warn you. Please, please be careful."

Wet snow leaked into the canvas toes of her boots as Erica took a step away. She let her head fall downwards as the laughter from the two playing boys echoed through the parking lot. She shrugged and held up her hands. "Heather's right. I did cut out everything for a long, long time. Numbing the pain only made it worse when I finally felt it, and yesterday it finally caught up. It hit me just how damn much I cared about those idiot Winchesters. I'm done pretending I don't."

"And if it gets you killed? Or your best friend or your innocent sister?" Jody countered. "I love those boys as much as you, but I check up with them through phone calls or infrequent visits. I don't live with them."

Erica thumbed the hilt of a silver dagger stuck into her belt, chewing her upper lip as she pondered her response. "Sam and Dean don't kill people. They save them. Family business and all that jazz. They do the same job as me and Heat. For now, we're sticking with them because we need each other."

Jody nodded and slung an arm around Heather's waist as she jogged back over. Maureen jumped into her front seat and revved the laughable engine of her vehicle to indicate her impatience. "I just worry about you girls. I'll text when we get there. Keep me up to date on the case ok?" She gave Heather a squeeze before stepping out from under the awning. The two children returned, nearly trampling her in their newest war game.

"Tell those Winchesters I said to call. I like to keep all my ducklings in a row." Jody offered one final parting wave before ducking behind the wheel of her car.

Heather and Erica waited on the porch step until both cars were safely on the freeway. With the roads recently cleared of this morning's snowfall, they peeled away quickly.

"Guess we should finish gathering our things and head back to the bunker," Erica suggested, raising her gloved hands to her mouth to warm them.

"Ever the efficient one," Heather muttered, letting herself back into the hotel room.

Erica took a moment to breathe in the cool air before following. She could not expect everything to mend over the course of a day. She would focus on ganking a few feisty demons and their sidekick witches until Heather decided she wanted to talk again.


End file.
